


Under the Star Light

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, various Avengers cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. means Melinda May, Phil Coulson and their team have enough time to build something personal. Lingering ghosts of T.A.H.I.T.I. means it's not what they intended. In fact, it's a bit of a mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the anonymous person who gave me this prompt. (maybe I'll find out who you are?) 
> 
> Hugs and love to my betas, First Draft and Stark-Agent. You're legends, both of you.

In hindsight, he should have expected something to happen. His life had been calm, almost happy. Yes, there were problems, but they had solutions. They were working on it as a team and he had a really good team. Phil Coulson should have known that this strange kind of a steady, happy life was never going to last. He'd been resurrected and that had a price. 

A few months ago, infrastructure seemed like a logical place to start. Directing a mostly defunct agency wasn't that different from running his team. Less protocol and his reports were written to himself, which took some getting used to. He still wanted to start with Director Fury at the top, but he couldn't. Phil deleted and started over, a lot. 

May, who was as efficient at administration as she was at everything else, helped him set up a new central filing system in the South Pacific base Skye called the Filing Cabinet. Everything had names, which was a good start. He missed the Hub and the Triskelion, but they were building from scratch, it would take some time. Maybe they could do without a Fridge for awhile. Ideally they wouldn't need one. Some of the terrible things that had happened there couldn't be blamed on HYDRA. Parts of S.H.I.E.L.D. had tarnished and lost their idealism in the darkness of the present. 

They would do better. 

Skye collected information, often presenting it over breakfast. It was less a meeting and more like planning missions while everyone attacked Simmons' pancakes (which she was really good at) but it was routine, and a good one. Phil still wore his suits because that made him more comfortable sitting behind his desk and signing his memos (with their extremely limited distribution) _Director Coulson_.

Simmons was quieter, more reserved than she'd been. She'd hadn't worked much without Fitz and his absence was palpable. Phil made sure she knew he was available, and Skye spent more time with Simmons than she had in the past. Often they worked together, side by side. May watched them too, from a greater distance. She'd volunteered to be Skye's Supervising Officer and his heart had jumped when she'd brought it up. She'd be great and perhaps she could mend some of the trust Ward had broken. Trip stayed because he needed a team; he had no desire to join the corporate world. He was a legacy and he'd stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. as long as there was a S.H.I.E.L.D.. 

The biggest change was the most silent. May came to him at the Playground. Neither of them intended to seduce each other, or even for them to continue to sleep together, but they did twice, then again. Then she invited him to her room at the Library. The taste of her became familiar and the sound of her breath next to him helped him sleep. She always curled against his back, her breasts pressed against his skin and while she was there, he tried not to fear the hypergraphia that struck in the night. 

The patterns lived behind his eyelids, waiting for him to rest, to quiet and let them be free of his attempts to control them. He traced the circles and lines on her skin while she slept, imaging the whisperings in his mind could make as much sense as the softness of her. 

When she caught him tracing alien marks on her body, she kissed his hands and promised over and over that whatever happened to him, whatever was coming, he was not Garrett. Garrett had been HYDRA before his experience with the Guest House drug. He had turned his anger outwards, hating S.H.I.E.L.D. for leaving him to die. Phil's worry was that he lived, which was different. It had to be.

May ran her hands through his hair in his sleep and suggested they talk about it. That he show the drawings to Skye, that they make it part of their mission and that he face it instead of burying it in the darkness.

He wasn't ready. 

So she held him and kept his secret. He hadn't understood her loyalty, how much she was willing to risk for him, until he saw it in her eyes, over and over as he covered sheets of paper, and the walls, with endless streams of circles and lines. He didn't know what they meant, but he knew when one was out of place. If May changed the pattern, he could fix it. Keeping the secret hurt her, but she let ask that of her. 

She shouldn't have. He owed her more than that, but he feared what had happened to him, what was happening still. 

So they went through the motions. They ate together, spent long hours in his office, and retreated together. If their team was watching them, they weren't subtle, but Skye and Simmons were both healing, and Trip didn't press. 

Looking back, it might have been easier if they'd been caught. If he'd been stupid and kissed May in the corridor where Simmons could see, or if he'd confessed to Skye how much his heart was wrapped in May and all the wonder of her. 

He didn't. May was quiet because she had always been. She respected his secrets, even when she was part of them.

She insisted Skye and Simmons work on their combat training and drilled them until they ached. Skye turned up to dinner one evening with a black eye, blaming Simmons. Simmons complained of how hard it was to use a scalpel when her hands were so abused by hand-to-hand combat. May smiled and made them keep practicing. The mats were nearly always out now, and he and May avoided each other because touching like that, even fighting, might have given them away. 

Not that it had to be a secret. S.H.I.E.L.D. was new, the rules were what they'd make them. May was the closest person to him and regulating a distance between them felt false. 

So they left it.

They walked on the beach of Sri Lanka, barefoot in the sand. He wanted to go back when the sun set, but May dragged him into the tree line, up towards the woods and pinned him between the warm, flat rocks and the sky. She rose above him, naked with sweat beading her skin, and the stars lived in her hair. Birds and insects hummed around them and the sounds of their bodies blended in with the jungle. 

There were leaves in his jacket he had trouble explaining to Skye when they walked up the ramp onto the Bus late at night. He said he dropped it, but that didn't explain why his suit was so rumpled and everything he said seemed a transparent excuse. Somehow May's hair escaped scrutiny, even though he picked stray pieces of the jungle out of their bed that night. 

Simmons nearly caught them in a Korean market. May had been eating her way through the food stalls, pancakes with squid and green onions, deep fried pastries shaped like fish, chicken in fantastic sauce that was almost too hot for him to handle, and she ate half of everything that was supposed to be his. Even thought they'd had lunch, she was hungry. He'd reached for her lips, trying to get sauce from the corner of them without licking it off. He used his thumb but she kissed it, coyly, and if the crowd had been thicker, he would have kissed her because no one knew them. It didn't matter if the nondescript guy in a suit kissed the beautiful woman in black. In that moment, they were anonymous: free.

He saw Simmons a moment later and waved because there was nothing suspicious about walking through the market. Even though he didn't get to kiss her, May was adorable. She'd roll her eyes at him, but he could watch her smile all afternoon. Simmons had found the cell cultures she wanted and she didn't seem that surprised that they'd just been walking together, waiting for her. 

They collected Skye from a computer shop and stopped again for the deep fried pastries shaped like fish because Simmons had to try them. May had another, because they were good.

He had several days of paperwork after that. Fury had always complained about it and Phil thought he exaggerated, because he would have made more of a thing out of it than it was. Yet, even without a much greater agency to report to, Phil spent much of his time at his desk. He tried to get away for meals, because he didn't want to become the type of leader who buried themselves away. He needed his team, even when it was as simple as laughing over dinner with them.

* * *

That Tuesday, he couldn't avoid eating at his desk, and Trip brought him lasagne. It was hot and delicious when he started, but as he worked and forgot about it, it cooled, the cheese hardened and by the time May comes to check on him, it sits abandoned.

Perching on his desk, she leans over and examines his work, a piece at a time. "You could have let this wait."

"I wanted it done."

"You could have done it tomorrow."

He sighs, flexing his fingers. "Tomorrow there will be more."

"This is a requisition statement for dry goods for an uninhabited base. It currently has three years worth of food. How urgent is it to restock when we only have three active teams?" May moves his forgotten plate, balancing it on her lap. 

"I want everything to be ready."

She picks at his lasagne idly with his fork. "There's ready and there's paranoid over planning when you should be eating dinner."

"Paranoid?" he asks, sitting up. "Really paranoid?"

"Overly cautious," she replies, smiling to calm him. Paranoia's one of the things he fears, and she knows. "You're overworked."

"I don't really have a staff."

"Would you like me to find you a secretary?"

He stacks the papers he'd been working on and shuts his laptop. "No, that's all right. I'll manage better."

"Eat with us," she suggests. "You love dinner with the team."

She is sometimes in the cockpit while everyone else eats, but he knows she listens to them; that she loves their conversations. She learned about her team through the intercom and he did it face to face. Phil can't be with them behind his desk. May scrapes his fork across his plate, eating the dinner that he'd shown so little interest in. It's cold now, but she devours it as if she hasn't eaten her own. 

"It's your turn to cook tomorrow anyway."

"When did we get turns?"

"We set up a schedule last week," she says. "You thought it was a great idea."

"I did." Chuckling, he sits back and unknots his tie. Letting it hang from his neck, Phil watches her finish the last of his dinner. He's had enough to eat, his unpredictable nights ruin his appetite and she must have been working hers up training Skye and Simmons. 

He slips his tie off and she sets his fork aside to tug his tie off his lap. Phil reaches for it, but it is gone across his desk and lunging to get it back over the papers is hardly the act of a reasonable, rational man. He wants to pin her to the leather sofa and wrap the tie around her wrists and she knows it. May can read his desire all over his body and that is why she smiles, wicked. 

Apparently she isn't above blackmail to get him away from his desk. He'll be hers, later, when their duties are completed. May's coy flick of his tie at him when she takes his empty plate suggests that he shouldn't stay too long. 

Later, when he passes Trip in the corridor, Phil realises that being without his tie is conspicuous, especially if May had carried his tie around the Bus, but he says nothing. Trip is always teasing him about dressing down more. Maybe Trip will see it as a good sign. 

After he's in his room, May crawls into his bed in the darkness, his tie still wrapped around her wrist as a trophy. She takes his attention from the book he's been wearily reading while waiting for her. Looping his tie around his wrists, she pulls them back. May makes him forget everything he'd intended to ask when she straddles his waist, stripping off her shirt. He loves it when she doesn't wear a bra. May's too practical to spend much time dressed in a way that isn't ready for combat, but they'd been in a hurry that morning and he's known that she's only had her shirt all day. 

She moans when he nuzzled her breasts, as if they are sore. Maybe Skye and Simmons had got a hit or two in earlier. She offers her lips instead to distract him from the soft roundness of her breasts and they kiss while the plane glides over the sea. She keeps him tied until it doesn't matter about orgasm, or the wetness that was her and him between her thighs. He holds her while his teeth tingle. 

May leaves him tied while she ducks into the bathroom and then watches him lying there as she returns. His eyes are glued to her as she crawls into the bed, naked and mysterious in the weak light. 

"What do you want?" 

"You."

"Again?" Her smirk quirks. 

"Always, Qiaolian."

She corrects his inflection but smiles. "Qiaolian, but that was close." 

"I'll get it eventually." 

May straddles his stomach and unties his hands. beaming down at him. "You've said that for decades." 

He strokes her breasts when his fingers were free, wondering if she had bruises that were making them sore. He can't see anything, but the light is weak. She moves slightly when he touched them, as if pulling away.

"What is it?"

"They're sore." She sighs. "Heavy. Maybe my implant's acting up." 

"You were spotting yesterday."

She shrugs, running her fingers down his chest. "For a few days. I don't know if I would have noticed much if we weren't-" she pauses and smirks. She might not have noticed if they hadn't been in bed together. "I'll have to check with Simmons about my implant. I can't remember when I had it put in. Maybe it's almost expired. Not that much of an inconvenience."

He rises on his elbows to kiss her chest. "We ruined my sheets, not yours."

"They washed."

Phil sighs. "Simmons was folding her socks when I brought them to the laundry. Then she thought I was injured and hiding it from her."

"I could injure you, if you want." She scratches lightly across his stomach, teasing. 

"Do we need to talk about--" he lets it trail off. She'd tell him if they needed to change their method of contraception. He has toyed with having a vasectomy for years because children aren't going to be part of his life. Maybe if things with Audrey had gone better they might have made that decision together, eventually. On his own, it seems that he's made his choice. 

"It should have a few years left," May answers his unfinished question. She stares at his chest, then flicks her eyes back to his. "I wouldn't worry."

"I'm not."

"You had that look."

"Which look is that, May?"

She lets her face go soft, innocent. "Like that. Like a puppy."

Phil cups her breasts in his hands and holds them, supporting them with his palms. "Better?"

Covering his hands with his, she smirks. "Are you available to follow me around all day?"

"Might give away our secret," he says. He grins up at her as her expression turned serious again. 

May puts a little pressure on his hands. "This is not a secret." 

"So we could--"

She smiles, the motion of her lips soft, even sad where her emotions reach her eyes. "Should we?"

"We're not breaking any regulations."

"It changes things, you and me. The others need stability. You need to guide them."

His thumb runs across her nipple. "I can't guide them from here?"

"You could run S.H.I.E.L.D. from your bed, if you wish." Her smile still seems to be forced onto her lips. "I'm not sure if that's the message you want to send."

"What message does it send if you're by my side instead of watching my back?" 

She lifts his hand and kissed it. "I'll always watch your back, where ever I'm standing." She slides down his stomach, bending low to kiss him so her weight rests on his chest. He returns her affection, letting the conversation stop in favour of other pursuits.

* * *

Phil is nearly as hungry as she is at breakfast when they finished off the eggs at breakneck speed. Perhaps it is their mutual exercise in bed. He hasn't done much else for physical activity, not since the fight at Garrett's base. He meant to join in their sparring, to take out the mats so they could go a few rounds. May will leave him bruised and panting, but it would be worth it. She is always worth it. 

He sets the budget for the Library base aside and left his office. He doesn't have the time to spar, but he can watch, at least for awhile. Phil leans over the rail, resting his arms. 

May and Trip argue over a grab, taking turns demonstrating on poor Simmons until she throws up her hands and backs off of the mats. Both of them start to bristle, feeling each other out. Their conversation remains light, but their hits are less of a demonstration. 

Trip takes a step back. "Are we ready for this?"

May glances at their audience, noticing Phil at the railing. She almost smiles up in his direction before she nods to Trip. 

Skye retreats, staring up at Phil. "What are they--" she calls up. 

"Sparring."

May drops into her stance and waits for Trip to move. 

"Just like that?" Simmons asks. "Why?"

"Because they're specialists," Phil explains. "It's what they do."

Skye and Simmons wait, standing together against the wall, deciding between each other who will win. He knows May will take Triplett down. What surprises him is the excitement in Triplett's eyes. Hasn't he heard the legends at the Academy? 

Bone and muscle make a unique sound. There's something percussive about their hands striking flesh; bare feet slapping against the mats. They circle each other, feeling each other out. May takes it easy on him at first, letting him feel confident before she takes him down. He's seen her do it before, usually with opponents who are bigger. Trip fights well, knocking her down twice before she really takes the upper hand. 

Then he goes down, hard, lying on the mat on his back, panting up at her as he forces his eyes to focus. 

Phil beams down at her. Skye and Simmons argue about how she's done it, whether she's swept out his leg or knocked him off balance, or if it is all in her thighs. 

"Where'd you learn that?" 

"Macau." She offers him a hand up, favouring her right ever so slightly. 

Phil wants to ask if May is all right, but he'll have to wait. 

"That's not standard."

"No."

"Show me?"

"It'll be harder for you," she says, studying him. "Your centre of gravity is much higher. You'll need to practice with someone closer to your size. Ideally taller."

"Thor," Skye jokes, elbowing Simmons. 

"Could you teach them?" Trip asks, tilting his head towards their students.

May nods and a hint of a smile toys with her lips. "You might not like it." 

Phil returned to his office and the budget. Later, when he is on his second cup of coffee, he hears the familiar thud of someone hitting the mats hard enough to take their breath away. He waits, then it comes again, followed by Trip cursing. Skye and Simmons are learning.

* * *

She's just put on the electric kettle for tea when Simmons peers around the corner. 

"Is there enough?"

Melinda stops the kettle and adds more water before she puts it back on. It begins to rumble, building bubbles as it heats. "You're up early."

"Burning the midnight oil.." Simmons yawns into her hand. "I'm running a gene sequence on a protein I found in Skye and Agent- Director- Coulson's blood. I thought the GH-325 drug had vanished completely into their biochemistry because I couldn't find any trace of it in their tissues. Then I looked on a cellular level and found a stray enzyme that I wasn't able to identify. That enzyme codes for a protein that I've been trying to isolate and it's completely different. Nothing I've seen before, except in the notes on the GH series of medication. If I can isolate it, I might be able to synthesise enough to see if it would help Fitz--"

Resting her hand on Simmons' shoulder, May nods. "Still, you need sleep."

"I know, I just wanted to see if I could synthesise it properly and I had to find a suitable growth medium and time just got away from me." Simmons stares at the kettle, watching the water roil within. "You always get up now, don't you?"

"Most days."

"Why do you look as tired as I do?" 

May smiles while Simmons yawns again. "I guess I didn't sleep well."

"Coulson was up too, wasn't he?"

Turning her attention to the now boiled kettle, May pours hot water over her tea leaves and Simmons' tea bag. "Yes."

"Did you help him?"

May digs a spoon out of the drawer and hands it to Simmons for her tea bag. "Help him?"

"I saw you going into his room when I grabbed a jumper from mine. I thought maybe you were able to help him sleep." Simmons takes the milk from the fridge and sighes. "You know, UHT milk just isn't the same. I know it makes much more sense from the perspective of storage, but it really doesn't add the same flavour to tea." She looks back to Melinda before she finishes. "He still has dreams about T.A.H.I.T.I., doesn't he?"

"Not every night."

"Did you stay up talking? Fitz and I used to, when one of us was particularly worried about an exam. It probably didn't help us sleep in the short term, but it was nice. Kind of calming." 

Searching Simmons' face, Melinda can't find any hint that she is trying to trap her, or that she suspects something is going on. Melinda had gone into Phil's room to talk, and the sex that followed was almost more of habit. They sleep better wrapped around each other and both of them needed the distraction. She isn't ready to say that they need to spend the night touching, or that she likes the scent of his skin to lull her to sleep. She can sleep adequately on her own; she sleeps better with him. 

"We talked."

"Good, I'm glad. It's great to have someone you can talk to." Simmons brushes her eye, as if it stings. 

Melinda squeezes her shoulder again. "He'll be fine."

"Of course," Simmons agrees, forcing a smile. For a moment, something else bothers her and she reaches for May's hand. "He'll be fine. I just, I miss him. He's always there when I working."

"Skye and I will be just through the glass. You can look at us if you need company."

"Skye does tai chi with you?" Simmons has that far away look, as if her brain's running too fast. 

"She has for several weeks. She's learned most of the forms now."

"And you do it in the corridor across from the medical lab?" Simmons turns her hand over feeling May's hand with the back of her own. It's an odd gesture but Simmons is sometimes strange. Her mind runs faster than the rest of the world.

"We will today. To keep you company."

Simmons' smile brightens. "That would be nice."

* * *

It is easier to work when she's not alone. When she needs to think, she watches through the glass as May and Skye do tai chi together. It's incredibly soothing the way they move in unison. May's right: Skye has picked up most of the forms. She stumbles on some of them, following May's arms and laughing when she gets it wrong. 

May smiles at her and waits for Skye to get it right before they move on. Even exhausted, Jemma's mind races. Perhaps it hurries more because she's pushed herself so hard over the last few days. She's close to figuring it out, close to finding a solution. Maybe she can help Fitz after all. There has to be something. 

It nags her that May's skin was so warm. She's not usually; her hands are cool, Jemma's sure of it. She wants to ask Skye if she's noticed anything. She should ask Coulson but she can't, not yet. There's something there. She doesn't want to have to confront him. It's not pleasant. 

She knows what the rules are and that they're agents on an equivalent enough level that even if they're in a relationship, which is the only way May could have the concentration of residual GH-325 that she has, it's not breaking protocol. It's just, well, a little weird because she knows both of them and they're, well, they're steady. They're not the kind of people who'd have sex because it was convenient or because they weren't thinking. So if they're together, it's the most complicated kind of sex. 

The computer beeps and reports her latest round of tests. The protein assays show that Coulson and Skye have nearly identical concentrations, but May's is thirty-five percent of theirs and has held steady for the last three weeks. Before that, it rose from barely detectable in her first round of samples, to where it's settled. It seems to have found an equilibrium in her system, but it's high. Especially when it's only part of the serum. 

She doesn't know what was in GH-325. No one does. If Garrett's body had been available for autopsy, she might have been able to piece it together better, but Coulson destroyed him. She doesn't blame him for that. Garrett's one of the few people Jemma has ever really wanted dead. She stares at the blinking read out for the GH protein assay and sighs. Why doesn't she have more data on the team's biometrics? They've been out of combat for awhile, training, building up. She only has her blood tests to work with from the beginning of her experiments into GH-325. It's not enough

Jemma drums her fingers on the table. What does she have to work with? Physicals for the last few years, which are less than useful, and she doesn't have any information for Skye prior to her involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D.. Skye's a better comparison because her hormone levels are more similar. She needs something else. Pouring through May's medical data, she runs a quick algorithm that quantifies May's recorded body temperatures over the last two decades that she's been with S.H.I.E.L.D.. 

The computer reports an average of thirty-seven point four. She'll have to adjust for circamensal rhythm and for hormonal contraceptives because those raise body temperature. There are several outlying events to consider and remove. Three infections related to combat, six uncomplicated viral infections, pneumonia following injury, dengue fever, several ailments that went undiagnosed by anyone with formal training but have been recorded. Four of them have Coulson's signature on the bottom. 

Coulson's name appears in May's medical record, over and over. He was her partner on several missions that brought them both back battered, her always the worst off. A few times he notes, with clinical detachment, that her injuries were sustained defending others, twice it's him. 

After the incident in Bahrain, all of her fieldwork stops. She has a few mild illnesses, but nothing noteworthy. Coulson's name is no longer on her file, not until she's on the Bus. Bahrain is the incident that made May 'the Cavalry' and after that, she stopped leaving the office. 

Her algorithm runs again, removing the cases that sway the average. In more than twenty years of medical records, May's average body temperature has been thirty-six point eight one. In the last few weeks, thirty-seven point eight. On a hunch, she places the graphs of May's body temperature and the concentration of the GH protein and they correlate.

She stares at May through the glass. She seems so serene, so calm. Would she tell them if something was wrong? Would she notice if it happened so slowly? 

Jemma smiles weakly when she's caught staring and waves Skye over when they finish. Skye comes into the lab, still yawning. 

"You're still up."

Jemma nods. "Is Agent May hot?"

Skye blinks, then grins. "Uh, yeah. Really hot. Have you seen her arms? I mean, wow. But you- I mean- we, we're not. It's just tai chi. Emotional control and all that shit. I didn't think you--"

She's too tired to even engage in a discussion about sexual orientation. "I meant temperature. When she touches you, is her skin warmer than yours?"

"Oh!" Skye's eyes widen. "Right. Uh, let me think." She reaches for Jemma's hand and touches that, almost as if looking for a baseline. "Yeah, I think so. She's mentioned it."

"Mentioned what?"

"Thinking the Bus was hot and the Library. I swear one time she nearly made us go outside and it's freezing outside the Library." 

Jemma paces, staring at the graphs on the wall. "Recently?"

"Last week, when AC had us down in the Library organising stuff." 

"Anything else?"

"Anything like what?" 

"You said she was hot. Does she have any other symptoms? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"What's going on?" Skye's afraid and Jemma hates that she's made her that. 

"She might be ill."

"Ill?" 

She shouldn't say anything. She needs information from Skye but Skye always ends up getting information out of her when she tries. "You know the Guest House serum?"

Skye pales just a little. There is something horrible about that drug, and she knows what it is. "Yeah."

"I found a protein in your blood from the serum, and it's in Director Coulson's blood as well." Jemma turns Skye's attention to her graphs. "This one is my blood, and this one is Triplett's."

"You guys aren't even a line."

"I know, we've had no exposure."

"And this one? The green one?"

Jemma fidgets with her hand on her sleeve. She should shower. Staying up all night always makes her feel awkward and dirty. "The green one is Agent May."

"Why does hers go up?"

Jemma looks at Skye. She doesn't want to say. It isn't her business to say. Normally she wouldn't care. May and Coulson are old friends. They're really sweet to each other and it doesn't matter. Except she has a duty to make sure May's all right. 

"She must have been exposed to the serum. I believe she's been exposed regularly to trace amounts of the GH protein. As it's built up in her system, it must have started to integrate itself, as it has in you and Director Coulson."

"You've been watching me since AC gave me the drug. GH doesn't make me hot. Why were you asking about that?"

Jemma sighs and switches the graph. "I think she has a fever, she might have for weeks. Not all the time, it must come and go, and I don't think it's been high enough for her to notice, but I think it's related to the GH protein." 

"So somehow she's been exposed to this GH protein, and it's making her sick?"

"A fever is a normal bioregulatory response to potentially dangerous stimuli. It doesn't necessarily mean she's sick, but it's an area of concern."

"You have to tell her."

Jemma stiffens. "Tell her that I imagine the only way she could have been exposed to the GH protein is through the bodily fluids of someone who's been treated with the drug?"

Skye's mouth opens. She shuts it quickly but she still stares past Jemma up towards Coulson's office. "You mean they?"

"I think so."

"But they're like--"

"They're very good friends."

Skye continues to stare up towards Coulson's office then looks away abruptly. "You and I are good friends."

"Romantic relationships between friends are often some of the most long lasting. My parents were best friends all through university."

"Your parents."

"Yes." Jemma nods for emphasis. 

Leaning against the table, Skye looks at the floor. "You do know that you just compared May and AC to your parents."

"They're people I admire very much."

"Who are having sex with each other."

"Perhaps they'd call it making love."

"Perhaps they'd call it the horizontal mambo." Skye says. "May and Coulson?"

"The only other possibility was that you and Agent May were, but you clarified that."

"We're not." Skye half-smiles, almost guiltily. "I mean, I'd be flattered, really damn flattered and a little terrified, but we didn't."

"Agent Ward was not exposed to the GH protein, nor was he present when Agent May's blood began to show signs of infection--"

"So it's like a disease?"

"I don't know, Skye." Jemma switches the graphs again, then changes to a view of the protein. "Proteins can have many purposes in the body. They build cells, repair muscle tissue, regenerate damaged organs and bones--" she trails off. Regeneration is one thing proteins can do. They can also build from scratch.

She turns, typing her next query into the computer system carefully, hiding it from Skye's eyes. Skye might not know what human chorionic gonadotropin is, but she's smart. If Jemma's not careful, Skye will know before she can even tell May and that seems wrong. 

"What is it?"

The computer returns her answer in another line that starts from the x-axis and grows continuously. That shouldn't be possible. May's contraceptive implant has a failure rate of one in ten thousand, if not more. She asks the computer again, and the data agrees. 

"What did you find?"

Jemma shakes her head. "I need to tell May first."

"Is she okay?"

"The GH protein had some side effects I didn't think of."

"You mean you didn't think of these until right now while you were talking to me?" 

Jemma reaches for Skye's shoulder. "I wish I could tell you. I can't."

"Tell me she's okay." There's something so frightened in that request that Jemma hugs her, tight. 

"She's fine."

"So whatever was in the Guest House--" Skye stops. She wants to say more. She knows and she desperately wants to tell Jemma the truth, but she can't. There are so many things they can't say. "The Guest House serum didn't hurt her."

"No."

"Okay." Skye takes heart in that, but she still looks lost. "You might want to tell Coulson first. There's things about the Guest House, it's complicated." Her eyes are haunted when she looks at Jemma. "Coulson probably needs to know." 

Downloading her information into a tablet, Jemma nods. She'd rather go straight to May. She should, but there's something wrong. Something she doesn't know. If the secret of the Guest House could affect the her, she owes it to May to find out. She has to be able to tell her the whole truth. 

"I need to see Coulson," Jemma says. 

"Yeah," Skye replies. "I think he's in his office. He got up when she did." She winces. "Not that like. Not like what I just said. I'm going to go spend time with my laptop. Alone. Watching Disney movies."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of human biology is garnered from the internet and what I remember from high school many years ago, please forgive some handwaving and errors.
> 
> Thanks again to my lovely, supportive betas. All errors are mine. 
> 
> And thanks for being so receptive of this story so far. I'm honoured that you like it so much.

Someone knocks. breaking his concentration. He's been working since he got up and he's meant to stop for breakfast three times. He must have taken too long. 

"I'm almost done, May," he insists without looking up. He sets down his cold cup of coffee. It's nearly empty but she'll chastise him anyway. He has been living on coffee and worry. It's too early for anyone else to need him, but the voice clearing her throat across from his desk belongs to Simmons.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Sir."

"It's no bother," he says, setting down his pen. "What can I do for you?"

"As you know, I've been studying the effects of GH-325 and I think I've tracked down a residual protein that I missed in my initial studies."

She's hiding something. Simmons can't lie and even trying to hold back a truth makes her wildly uncomfortable. He sits back in his chair and gives her his full attention.

"I took blood from myself, Agent Triplett and Agent May as controls, so I could screen your blood and Skye's for any traces of GH-325 that could help Fitz. Obviously it wasn't a perfect study, but I have to work with what I have."

"Go on," he says, wishing he could make this easier for her.

"The residual protein, I don't know how else to say this, it's not right. It doesn't match anything I've seen. I can't find reference to it in any medical database that I have clearance to access. I asked Skye to look for it in some that I don't have clearance for but it's not there. The only places I can find any reference to it at all is in what's left of the Guest House files and they're mangled."

"They should be," he says, but regrets how harsh it sounds.

"I need them intact." It's not just Fitz she's worried about. Something else is wrong.

He sighs. He hates that Fitz is still in a coma, but GH isn't the way to save him. Skye might show symptoms as he does any day now. The patterns that live behind his eyes are a burden he can't wish on anyone. He doesn't know what they mean and they're stronger every day. He catches himself writing those circles and lines in the corners of his papers, and he's had to reprint some of his forms because he's written on them.

"I don't know if anything from the Guest House can help anyone. Garrett went mad on the GH serum."

She doesn't buy that. "In combination with the Centipede cocktail of drugs and who knows what else he had taken in congress with his cybernetic implants. You and Skye haven't shown any signs of degradation."

He's a much better liar than she is and regret gnaws at his gut. "No, I guess not."

She stares at him, her anger faltering. "What is it? What was down there? You came up shouting that we shouldn't give it to Skye. She would have died without it, and you, you looked like that was a better outcome."

"Skye's all right?"

"Yes. Skye's fine." She keeps staring at him, then looks down at her tablet. Simmons looks up and swallows. "It's May."

"May?"

"There are traces of the GH protein in her blood." 

His chair creaks when he sits back. "How?"

Simmons still sits straight upright, but there's a sorrow in her face. "I think she was exposed over a period of several weeks. The transmission enzyme must function like a virus. When there was enough of it in her blood, her cells began to produce the GH protein, like yours and Skye's." 

"Are there symptoms associated with this protein?" Has he hurt her? It's bad enough if GH is in him and Skye, if it's in May, it's entirely his fault. 

"She's had spikes in body temperature. I only have baseline data because I haven't been taking full physicals, but using the internal sensors, I'd say she has had a mild, recurrent fever since peak exposure." Simmons is still holding something back. Is that for him or for May?

He leans forward, hands on the desk. "Is she okay?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes, she's healthy. However, there's something you and she need to know about." Her shyness is gone and she stares him down. She knows about them and she's not the timid biochemist who walked onto the Bus so many months ago. Simmons knows he's lying. How does she know? Has he made a mistake somewhere? Did she see him leaving May's room? 

"I don't know what you're--"

"Your behaviour, which is none of my business really, has had unintentional consequences." Simmons hands her tablet computer over to him. The graphs of May's bloodwork make no sense to him. She must have tried to make them simple, but he's so exhausted that he can't read them. "Stop me if I'm wrong, sir, but I believe you and Agent May have had unprotected intercourse, regularly, for at least the last ten weeks. That's not my concern. I wouldn't be here if it was just that. I wouldn't even mention it. It's not what I'd like to be talking about with you, to be perfectly honest."

Somehow he feels like a chastised teenager. "Not unprotected. May has an implant."

"A progesterone implant in her left arm designed to inhibit ovulation, placed just over a year ago." Simmons points at her chart. "I know. I also know that there's something about the Guest House that freaks out Skye, and makes you go all quiet. I know you don't want me to look into it for Fitz's sake, but I don't think you understand. I started this research to help Fitz, and perhaps at some point in the future it will." She takes another breath, stiffening up. "Right now, I'm worried about May. This protein isn't just sitting idly in her cells. This peak? That's a luteinizing hormone surge, and the purple, that's FSH, follicle stimulating hormone. That shouldn't occur in a woman on a progesterone implant, especially not to this degree."

"Luteinising hormone?" He should know this. Simmons thinks he should know what she's talking about.

"It's one of the gonadotropins. It triggers ovulation."

The last word hits him like an ICEr. "The trace amounts of the GH protein you've discovered have done this?"

"Agent May's contraceptive implant would have prevented ovulation under normal circumstances. The GH protein appears to have counteracted the effect, with some efficiency."

One green line on Simmons' graph shows a steady increase of a hormone that curves upward until the end of the graph. He does not remember what hCG means from biology. It looks familiar, but it doesn't click.

"The green line is human chorionic gonadotropin, and it's been increasing in her blood steadily for the last sixty days, give or take." Simmons takes pity on him and takes back the graph. "Agent May is pregnant, Sir. If you were sexually active together sixty days ago--"

He nods. His throat's too dry to allow for speech. He coughs and tries to clear it, but he can't get the lump out of it.

"I don't know what was in that base or what you're still holding back about project T.A.H.I.T.I. I know Skye went white when I mentioned it and your respiration rate increased when I told you about it. I don't know what you saw, sir, but there's something in GH that's changed Agent May's biochemistry in a way I don't understand. Whatever it is, you need to tell her, because she's pregnant, and I don't think it was simple contraceptive failure, considering the chances of spontaneous conception at her age." 

Simmons pulls the tablet back and hugs it to her chest. She shrinks a little, deflating now that she's confronted him. "I had to practice what I was going to say to you four times in the lab, and I still didn't get it right. Something's happened, and yes it's a medical issue, but this is a personal one, too. You have to get it right when you tell her. It's important. I don't know what you and her will decide to do, but I need to make sure she's all right, as soon as possible."

He tries to stop himself, but he smiles. He shouldn't. He runs his hand across his head. What is he going to say? How can he tell Melinda this? What has he done to her, to what they had? GH doesn't belong in her. It's supposed to be his curse. 

"Is she okay?"

"She appears healthy. All her hormone levels are within normal parameters. As I said, she has a slight fever that comes and goes, and I'd like to do so more tests and remove her implant as soon as possible. If she decides to continue with the pregnancy, I'll need to run a scan of the foetus, to check its development."

Phil tries not to turn foetus into baby in his head, but it's hard not to. It's only one possibility, a potential life he can't even speculate about, yet he's already attached. He wants to see if he'll have May's hair. Will she smile like her mother does? He has to tell May. He has to find words that explain what's happened, and what could be. He's always thought of the future as abstract, something full of movements and countermovements, chaos to be ordered and a world to protect. This shrinks his world down to the most simple components, and he shares the utter helplessness that his own father must have felt. 

"Okay," he promises Simmons. "I'll talk to her."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"No, no. It's not--" he falters again. "It's my fault. I should have been more careful."

"You couldn't have known. This kind of resurgent reaction in gonadotropins is very rare. If I had to predict the action of the GH protein, this would be low on my list of possibilities. It's a very odd adaptation from anything but an evolutionary sense--" she continues speaking but he can't hear her.

May's pregnant. They're pregnant.

"Thank you," he manages eventually. He's not even sure if it fits in the conversation Simmons was having with him. 

She nods. "I need to run more tests. I don't fully understand the mechanism of the GH protein, and I don't know if it will continue to affect her if she decides to continue with the pregnancy. If there's anything else I need to know, about the Guest House--"

Phil leans back in his chair, then leans forward, his head in his hands. Simmons doesn't have clearance. He shouldn't say anything, but it's May. 

"It's an oh-eight-four."

"What?"

"GH-325 was derived from the bodily fluids of the corpse of an oh-eight-four. No one knows what it does. I'll unseal the Guest House files, everything you need should be in there. " 

Now pale, she stands, still clinging to her tablet. "Thank you."

For once, his fingers don't beg to trace and draw. His mind is silent; utterly consumed with the strangeness of life. He has to find May. He has to tell her. He has to be fair. He can't grin at her like an idiot, but his smile's already there. He has to stop and concentrate to force it down. He has to see what she wants; how she takes it because this must be about her.

* * *

When she walks into his office, something's wrong. Phil's always so easy for her to read, but this morning he's confused. He's not upset, maybe surprised? He reaches for her hand, which is unlike him. She's the one who touches him. 

"We need to talk." He looks down at their hands, almost sheepish. 

Melinda follows him over, wondering if it's Hydra, something Fury hid from them or any of the myriad other awful things, but he's trying not to smile. 

Phil fails, and he does smile as he tugs his sleeve then clasps his hands. "Melinda-"

Her first name: he's nervous. 

"You should sit." 

Why does he want her to sit if he's the one who seems on the verge of some kind of breakdown? She sits and he joins her on the sofa and again he reaches for her hand, but she takes his and wraps it in hers. That seems safer because he's so tense.

"Simmons has been studying GH-325, looking at our blood samples for clues to how it behaves in the body."

Something's wrong with him? With Skye? She can't stand to lose either of them. She knows the hypergraphia has to be a symptom, part of something they don't yet understand. There's a knot in the bottom of her stomach that she can't ignore. 

Phil looks at her knees, then up into her eyes. Something's troubling him. "She didn't know how to tell you. I don't know how to--" he takes a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant?" The complete ridiculousness of the question she's just asked in response to an equally ridiculous statement doesn't even sink in until after she's asked it. 

"It's my fault. Simmons found the GH protein in your blood and we, you and I, and she's still not sure what it does, but it definitely had a regenerative effect and some of your cells responded and she thinks it induced ovulation which meant that we-- And I'm not saying this right at all, am I?"

She shakes her head. She doesn't want him to finish. She doesn't know what to say, but she can't let him struggle. "Take a deep breath and try again."

"Melinda--"

Then she gets it. What he's trying to say slams into her like a wave. She shivers and nearly lets go of his hand. "I'm pregnant."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't--" she squeezes his hand, then pulls him into her, holding him close. He smells so familiar, so safe. How could they have done this? How could this happen? "Don't apologise."

"I didn't even think about exposing you to the Guest House serum, I never would have if I'd known."

"You couldn't have." She hasn't been sick. Isn't she supposed to be sick? Her breasts hurt, but that slow, steady ache could have been anything, bruising from sparring with Trip--

"Are you okay?" 

"No."

He bites back another apology and rubs her shoulder. "I didn't think."

"No." She has to say more than that, but finding words means she has to dredge her soul. "Neither of us thought."

"Simmons says your blood work is fine. I mean, you're fine, completely healthy, if you want to, you know. You don't, I mean, I'd never, it's your choice, May--"

Her hands sweat, turning his damp. Her heart thuds in her ears and all she can think about is her mother reminding her about grandchildren. If Melinda wants to have a baby, she shouldn't wait, not long. She didn't want, she couldn't, not after Bahrain took everything from her. 

She's just started to remember how to smile without it stinging and she's pregnant. 

"Pregnant," she repeats as if she's just discovered the word and doesn't know what it means. She needs her mother. Melinda can't think, can't string more than a word together and she can trust her mother will know what to do. 

"It's okay to be frightened, or angry."

"Confused," she says, squeezing his hand. "A little lightheaded."

"I'm so sorry."

She kisses his cheek because that's easier than talking. "I don't blame you. It's a fluke. An accident. I'm not hurt."

"You didn't--"

"We didn't," she corrects. "You and I didn't think this could happen."

"What can I do, Melinda?"

She rests her head on his shoulder and shuts her eyes. She doesn't know what she wants or how she feels. Her heart's a wild mess that doesn't seem to be capable of any kind of coherent emotion. He holds her, because that she doesn't have to articulate. 

She's never even had a pregnancy scare. Never purchased a pregnancy test in the middle of the night. She never thought--

And here they are. The secret organisation they work for doesn't exist. She's his second in command and they're trying to build it from scratch and Hydra and all the other monsters are out there, waiting for them.

She can't even contemplate what she should do. Can't think because it's too much. Phil sits with her in silence for a long time, because he remembers a time before when she couldn't speak and that was what she needed him to do. Eventually she leaves and he doesn't follow. That, at least, is easy.

* * *

Sitting in the cockpit, satellite phone in hand, Melinda has not made any progress dialing her mother's number. She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there. She meant to call her and came out to the cockpit because it is quiet. It's morning in Pennsylvania. Melinda can picture the sun over the trees behind her mother's large old house. 

It has history, her mother always insists. She isn't going to live anywhere without history. 

She tries to dredge up the courage to type in the number, but she doesn't get anywhere. Her fingers don't seem to know what they're doing. 

The knock on the door startles her away from what she's failing to do. 

Simmons holds a sheet of paper in her hands, crumpled by her grip.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"What do you have?" Asking the direct question makes Simmons flush and look down at the paper she's holding so tightly. 

"I printed out your test results, in case you wanted to see them. I think I can answer any questions you might have, but I'm not an obstetrician, and we'll need to consult one, of course I'm not really sure who we'd contact, now, but I think we could--"

Melinda needs her to stop talking and lifts her hand. "I trust you."

Simmons looks both terrified and pleased at the same time. "Okay, well, right. Did Director Coulson explain the GH protein?"

"He tried."

"I'm sorry. I should have--"

Melinda shakes her head. "Don't."

Simmons shifts her weight on her feet but continues without apologising again. "GH-325 seems to leave a residual enzyme that codes for a protein that I've never seen before. I'm only started to keep track of all the permutations of what this protein can do to the human body. Regeneration is one effect, but there are also more subtle changes. Clearly interfering with hormonal birth control appears to be one of them. Obviously, I'll warn Skye before she--" Simmons voice breaks and she loses her thought. "Are you okay?"

How is she supposed to answer? Physically, she can't say she feels that different. She's sore, almost achy, but it's not out of the ordinary. Often her body feels much worse than this. 

Melinda's silence makes Simmons speak, recriminating herself. "I should have caught it sooner. I should have been able to--"

"Don't blame yourself." No one needs to be blamed. That never helps. 

"I didn't know you two were-- I thought, I know you were close, but not like that. Not that that's bad. I think it could be good. Both of you have been so happy lately. It's good, isn't it? He was so-- I'm sorry, I know I should have told you first."

Melinda nods, but she intends no reproach. She would be harder to tell, and if the safety of the team was a concern, Simmons was following protocol. 

"It seemed kinder coming from him," Simmons continues, "he knows you and he's the father."

Melinda nods, again, because she can't find words. 

"Yes, right." Simmons says in answer to nothing. She flutters her hand and quickly hands the paper over before she can wrinkle it further. "Your hormone levels are all normal. The concentration of hCG suggests that you're ten weeks pregnant. Of course, that system of dating is based on the inaccurate last menstrual period model and that's just not scientifically sound, especially when it's been some time since you've had a menstrual period, which obviously you haven't had in quite a while."

"How do you want to date it?"

"Based on hormone levels, you conceived between sixty-five and fifty-five days ago. I can be more accurate if I perform an internal scan."

"A scan?" She's always had scans to check for broken bones and to set fractures, never to look at anything like that. 

"To check foetal development. It's standard procedure. All of your hormone levels are within expected norms for someone in your condi--"

"Pregnant," Melinda interrupts her. "You can say it."

"Pregnant," Simmons repeats, even though blood pinks her face. "I'd like to check the development of the foetal nervous system. That should be a much more accurate way of dating and I'll know the foetus is healthy. Which is important, assuming you want to continue. Which I don't want to do. I mean, I don't want you to feel like I'm going to judge you one way or the other. I can synthesise enough progesterone to terminate, if that's what you want. You have some time left to decide, but if you--"

"Jemma, sit."

She takes the co-pilot's seat reluctantly, just about perching on the edge. "I'm sorry. I haven't done this, ever."

Melinda almost has to smile at that, but her face won't move. "Me neither."

"I want you to know that I'll help you with whatever you want. Whatever you need. If you decide to continue with this, with your pregnancy, I'll need to run some tests in addition to the scan."

"Can your scan wait?"

"Of course."

Jemma half smiles, maybe she's trying to be reassuring. "That's fine. I'll calibrate my equipment tonight and we can do it whenever you're ready, or not, I mean. I have to remove your implant, too. I should do that soon if you want some time to think. I can do it now, or in the morning. If that's, I mean, you don't need, you aren't sick in the morning, are you? I can do it later if you--"

"No. I haven't been sick at all. Hungry, I guess."

"I noticed. I thought, I mean, I was worried something was wrong." Jemma's smile grows until it lights her face. "Though now that we know, that seems healthy." She reaches for Melinda's arm, then pauses, suddenly shy, but touches her anyway. "How does it feel?"

"Sore." Melinda's acutely aware of Jemma's hand and it's nice, even comforting to have the coolness of it there. "I thought I'd been sparring too much."

"You have to stop!" Jemma's eyes go wide in panic. "You can't--"

Waving her hand, Melinda nods. "I'll be careful."

"You were just letting Skye and I throw you yesterday." Jemma's expression tightens and the pink fades from her face. "Oh God. I knocked you down. Skye knocked you down twice!"

"You and Skye don't throw me hard enough to hurt me." Or anyone else, Melinda finishes in her head but she's not ready to say that aloud. She's not ready to personify the ache in her breasts as anything more than that. It's not real. 

"I'm so sorry."

"Jemma, I'm fine."

"Are you? Are you really?" 

"As far as I know."

"But you didn't want this."

Melinda leans back in the pilot's seat. She's most comfortable here, removed from the chaos of everything else but chaos has found her; taken root within. She'll have to wait for her emotions to catch up with her. Sometimes her heart stalks her, like a predator in the darkness. 

She exhales, tired. "I didn't think about it."

"Does that mean it's okay or not?"

Okay means a kind of stability that seems light years away. Okay might as well be Asgard and she has no wings. 

Jemma fidgets again, and the needle emerges from her pocket in her nervous fingers. "May I take another blood sample?"

Stripping off her jacket, Melinda rolls up the sleeve of her shirt and offers her left arm. Jemma pauses when she touches her skin, thinking. 

"Are you warm?"

"Now?"

"Lately," Jemma clarifies. "Do you feel warm? Because your skin's warm to the touch. Warmer than mine."

Melinda watches red seep as her blood fills the tube, because that's familiar. She knows blood.

"May I take your temperature?"

She nods again and submits, because if she moves too quickly, Jemma's going to flee the cockpit and the needle's still in her arm. Jemma finishes fussing and places Melinda's fingers over the bandage to stop the bleeding from the needle mark. 

"Your temperature is elevated. I calculated your baseline to be thirty-six point eight one but this is thirty-eight point zero five. " 

Again she should speak, but she can't. She waits for Jemma to finish. 

"It could be nothing and I don't think it's a problem, but I'd like to keep an eye on it. You'll tell me if something feels off?" 

She nods because Jemma's worried enough. How will she tell what feels off if she's numb from the inside?

"Do you have any questions?" 

Pulling her jacket off the pilot's seat, Melinda slips it back on, hiding in the comfortable leather. None that Jemma can answer. "No."

"I'm going to go and work with this. I need to run some comparative assays and read the Guest House files because Director Coulson has given me clearance so I can, well, I guess so I can figure out why this happened and make sure you're okay." She stuffs the vial of blood and the capped needle back into her pocket. "Not that you have to be okay. I think it would be entirely acceptable to really not be okay. I wouldn't be okay if it was me. I wouldn't be okay at all. So it's all right if you're not. If you want to cry or scream or throw something, you should, because this is a big thing. A huge thing and it's scary. I'd be frightened. And I'm going to go."

Retreating from the cockpit, Jemma looks back and smiles, almost as if she wants to make Melinda feel better. It's sweet. 

When she's gone, Melinda shuts the door before anyone else can intrude. She takes a deep breath, then another. She finally touches the keys on the phone, her fingers clumsy. It rings twice then her mother answers. She always answers the phone in English, even when she knows it's Melinda and she prefers Melinda to speak in Mandarin or Cantonese. It's a test. 

"Hi Mama.." She starts, falling easily into Mandarin. 

"It's Tuesday," her mother says, changing to Mandarin to match. "You call on Fridays. What has happened? Are you hurt? Phillip's not careful enough with you."

Melinda wants to say nothing, to melt into her seat until she has control of herself again. "No, I'm not hurt."

"Then tell me, Qiaolian. What can't wait until Friday?" 

"Mama--"

"Out with it. Is Phillip being an ass again? I still have connections. My agency could--"

"He's not an ass, Mama."

"He was and you know it, Qiaolian. Don't defend him. He sent you away when all you've ever done is keep him safe. Very ungrateful. I still don't think you should have gone back to his plane. Maria would have given you a good position at Stark Industries, with good holidays. You could visit more."

Melinda shuts her eyes and balls her fingers into a fist. She can do this. "I'm pregnant."

That creates a long silence. The line crackles and for a moment Melinda wonders if she's actually made her mother speechless.

"You told me I would not have any grandchildren. I have made peace with that. Why do you change this now? I have prepared nothing. I'm not ready. I need time to make my grandchild a bedroom in my house." Her mother continues, listing all the things Melinda's change of heart has thrown out of order in her life.

"Who is the father?"

"Phil."

"Phillip yells at you. Shoots you with one of those ice guns, makes you leave and you then you have a child with him? Have you not listened to me about men? Men like him are just like your father. You can't count on him to be--"

"I do count on him." Maybe it's the waver in her voice that sways her mother. She's always read her better than anyone, even Phil.

"And you've decided that is enough to have his child?"

"We weren't trying."

Her mother inhales, sharp, and Melinda winces.

"You weren't trying? What does he have to say about this?"

What had Phil said? She's just spoken to him but her mind's blank. "He is waiting for me to decide. I think he's happy."

"So he wants this baby. Why do men always want babies? They don't know half the work that goes into them. Your father--" she trails off. May's father is always more a ghost than a real presence. "Do you want this baby, Qiaolian?"

"I don't know." She can't have a child. What would she do with him? Where would he sleep? How would he go to school? How will she nurse him when she has to fly the Bus? Who will pick him up when she can't? 

She doesn't know what Phil wants. He smiled when he told her, but he could have done that for her, or maybe he'd rather be having a child with the cellist he lost. It's so hard to tell if it's duty or affection between them. Even when she's lying next to him, she's not sure what this is between them. Does he love her? Does she need him to? He will love the baby, if there is one, she has no doubt of that. Is that enough? What would that relationship be like? She's not even sure she can look at him without needing to look away. She doesn't doubt that he'll be a good father but she can't be with him and not love him. 

She can't terminate this pregnancy because she's afraid. She can't be afraid. 

"Do you love him? If you're going to have a baby, it should be with someone you love. Even if you can't be together." Her mother does love her father, wherever he is and whatever he's doing, she loves him. Melinda's never met him, and won't, but he's a ghost in her life that remains well loved. Will Phil become a ghost as well? What is he writing? What's happening inside of him? Will they solve this crisis only to lose him later? 

She doesn't have her mother's strength. She doesn't know if she can have Phil as a friend who shares the life of their child while he loves someone else. She'd never keep him if he wanted to go. If he loves Audrey, she'll send him to her. That might be easier, in the long run. Audrey can give him an ordinary life, at least some of the time.

She thought that she finally understood her feelings for Phil. That caring about him is enough, but it's not the right word. She is past caring. She hid the truth for him, went out into the field again for him, risked her life and their friendship: everything. She would let him go if he asked, but he hasn't. He's still here. If he stays, it could be duty, or something infinitely more terrifying. It would be simple if he loved Audrey and they came to an understanding about this child. 

If he doesn't love Audrey, he might love--

"I love him, Mama."

"I should have named you 'always clever' instead. That way you would put more thought into what you do and whom you give your heart too." 

She closes her eyes, her head swimming. "He's a good man."

"He didn't trust you. You risked everything to keep him safe after Fury put you in that awful position and Phillip hasn't even apologised for what he said to you.."

"He doesn't--"

"He does. He needs to. He should throw himself at your feet for what you've done for him and instead he punished you. Sent you away. Let you get shot!"

She sighs. Getting shot is not the crisis her mother always makes it into. "That was S.H.I.E.L.D. thinking we were Hydra."

"On his watch. If he had listened to you instead of yelling at you, you never would have gotten shot."

Melinda doesn't have the energy for this argument. "I love him, mama. He'll be a good father. I think he'll love a baby." 

"If that's what you want."

She takes a breath and it hisses through her teeth. She's so tense that her limbs can barely move but she can't fix it. She can't control anything. "I don't know."

"Then come home."

* * *

"Wǒ ài tā, māmā. Tā huì chéngwéi yīgè hǎo fùqīn. Wǒ xiǎng tā huì ài shàng yīgè bǎobǎo.." Melinda's voice cracks, trembling over the words through the door. 

He should knock, announce that he's here, that he hears she speak. He's not that quick with Mandarin, and he misses what comes next, but he understood the heart of it. She loves him. 

She says it again, still arguing with her mother. Melinda's voice is weaker now, softer. She's frightened. He hasn't seen her afraid like that in years. He's heard it, seen moments where she's let down her guard, but now fear's naked in her voice and he can't stop it. 

He leans against the door and waits for her to hang up. She loves her mother, more than anything, but May Jun-Ying is an intense woman who demands much from her daughter. Sometimes things her daughter can't give her. Not at the moment. 

Her breath shudders in her chest, and even through the door he wants to hold her. He wants to hug her tight enough that she doesn't have to be afraid. She takes another breath, trying to calm herself but she can't. He's heard her struggle like that before. She tried so hard to hold herself together after Bahrain, eventually she couldn't, so part of her went away. He can't lose her again, not to this. He doesn't care if they have a baby, a fish, or three dogs and an electric eel, he wants her. 

He knocks, then walks into the cockpit before he loses his nerve. "Nǐ ài wǒ," he stumbles a little through, but she hears him. "You love me."

She stands up but doesn't turn to look at him. Her fingers turn white, gripping the edge of the dashboard. Every vertebrae is straight and level in her spine. Her eyed drop and she still can't look at him. He takes a step towards her, then another. He reaches for her arms, running his hands down her arms. She doesn't flinch, yet doesn't move closer. 

"I need to see my mother."

"Of course, take all the time you--"

"A week."

"That's fine. We can drop you off in New York. You can meet us when you're ready. "

"Thank you." Her eyes look right through him. She sees, but doesn't. 

"Your mother's going to kill me, isn't she? I suppose I should stay out of MI6's way for a while. Avoid dark alleys." Phil brings his hands up to her shoulders. The tension there feels like cords beneath his hands. He leans closer, resting his head against hers from behind. "Are you okay?" 

Turning her head ever so slightly from side to side, Melinda reaches up for his hand and grabs his fingers where they lie on her shoulder. She holds onto him with one hand, her grip hot and tight. 

"Did Simmons come speak to you? She was worried that she didn't talk to you first. I think she was just following protocol, trying to make sure everyone was safe. She thought I might have given you some kind of virus, and then she found out you were-- I don't think SciOps really covered how to deal with these kind of situations. Maybe I'll have to write that into the manual." 

"She talked to me." Her death grip relaxes just a little. 

Phil takes that as a good sign and puts one arm around her waist. She's still stiff, like iron, but she stays in his arms. She doesn't pull away. 

"I know this is a shock, for both of us. Worse for you, and I know how much this is asking you to change your whole life." He waits, letting her take the time to put words to what she wants to say. He counts her heartbeats, holding her close. 

"If we- If I- Simmons wants to do a scan, you can--"

"Okay," he agrees before she finishes, saving her from having to say anything else. "If you want me."

She turns and drops her head, resting against his chest. It's not really a nod, but he'll take it as a yes. She doesn't believe him and he's not sure if anything he says can get through to her. Slowly, her arms go around his back, holding him to her. She's still stiff, but even iron bends under enough pressure. He can't ask, not yet, but he'll be there. 

Melinda stands there, wrapped in his arms without speaking. He tries to talk, but stops after a while because it's not about the words. He deals with his shock by talking and she doesn't. She never has. Whatever she's thinking, whatever's going on behind her dark eyes, she'll tell him when she's ready. Maybe all she needs is a week, maybe she'll decide it'll be longer. He's waited for her this long. He can keep waiting as long as it takes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your support! the feedback you've given really blows me away.

She's not sure how many days it's been since she last slept alone. When she wakes the bed is much too big, as it was when she fell asleep. The room's too silent without Phil's breathing. Part of her wants to creep down the hallway and crawl into bed next to him. Melinda could wrap her arms around him, listening to him breathing and hope everything goes away, but she doesn't. 

She leaves her lonely bed, removing her pyjamas. Her breasts are still sore, somehow too heavy. She holds them for a moment, remembering Phil's hands and the way he smiles when he looks at her. She stops in front of the mirror and stares. Her muscles and bones endure. Her scars heal, some of the older ones fading. It wasn't until she was on the Bus that she started to collect new scars again. The line just beneath her left clavicle pulls her attention and she strokes it. Phil's presence is as written on her body as it is on her heart. She wants him; fears him because letting him in is a risk. He was safe at arm's length. Safe as a friend. She changed that, risked him and all she feels for him because she almost trusted herself. 

She pulls on her clothes and runs over her hands over her abdomen. She tries to remember other women she's been near and what they looked like. But it's too early; there's nothing there, probably won't be for weeks. Would it be more real if there was? Jemma would tell her at length if she asked, but she won't. She could look it up herself, but that doesn't seem right, either.

She tugs her hair back and ties it up behind her head. She can't keep Skye waiting. To her surprise, both Jemma and Skye are waiting for her in the practice room. Jemma's brought tea in a thermos, because even at just after five in the morning, she's English.

Both of their smiles are so genuine and tentative. She's not sure if Skye knows, but Jemma does and after she tries her hardest to return their affection with a smile of her own, Melinda decides she doesn't care. They're her family. If that family's changing, it'll affect them too. Jemma hasn't done tai chi before so they slip slowly through the motions. It's not as rhythmic as working through at the speed she and Skye have fallen into, but it's pleasant all the same. 

She lets herself not think. Instead, she watches Jemma's hands, arranges Skye's feet and listens while they talk to each other. Their small talk is softened by sleepiness and they're quieter than usual. They don't talk about anything important, and by the later postures, it's all about what they have to do today. 

Jemma stops during 'needle at the sea bottom' and stands up, breaking her concentration. "What do you want for breakfast?"

It's almost too simple of a question. She should have an answer. Phil would. 

"What?"

"Skye and I are going to make breakfast after this. We thought--"

"We'd make something you like."

"If that's okay," Jemma finishes. 

She rarely puts that much thought into food. Breakfast is very simple at her mother's house. When she arrived at the academy, the food in the dorms was shockingly complex with so many options. She tries to avoid breakfast on their cooking schedule because she's never sure what other people would want. Lunch and dinner are much easier, especially when they're in a base because the kitchens are usually well stocked. 

The two of them look at each other, almost shy. Jemma tries to follow Skye into the next form, 'fan through the back', but Melinda's concentration is shot and Skye's not ready to lead. The three of them stand there, like trees when the wind has stopped. 

"I kind of default to pancakes because I still feel a bit rebellious having them for breakfast when they're more of a dessert or dinner item at home," Jemma says.

"Cinnamon buns," Skye says, shrugging. "I never had an oven in the van. We can actually bake them here and it makes everything smell nice." 

She nods, but can't think of anything. Leading them both into 'fan through the back', Melinda thinks of home, and her mother making breakfast. Frozen dumplings to cook at home were hard to find when they travelled. Her mother used to make huge batches on her days off and fill the freezer so they'd have them when they woke up and got ready for work and school. 

As they finish 'cross hands' and move into closing posture, Jemma and Skye both look somewhat dejected that their kind idea hasn't been taken up. Melinda shuts her eyes. There's no reason to push either of them away. 

"Bāozi," she says, opening her eyes.

Skye and Jemma look at each other again, lost. 

"Is that breakfast?" Skye asks. "Do you have a recipe?"

Melinda tilts her head towards the kitchen. "Come on."

Their smiles widen and Jemma drags along the thermos of tea, now mostly empty. Both of them are rather sweetly only half awake and she keeps calling the ingredients by their Chinese names in her head which makes asking for things from the pantry difficult. 

Skye emerges from the stores with her arms crossed after the third time it happens. "I have no idea what me-an-fen is. Is it a brand? Is it--"

For a moment she can't even remember the word, because all Melinda hears in her head is her mother talking her through the recipe. She follows Skye into the pantry, wandering the shelves.

"This." Picking up the plastic container, she looks at Skye in apology. 

"Flour," Skye says. "You forgot the word for flour." That awe Skye so often has when she looks at her fades and as they walk back to the kitchen, something's changed in Skye's eyes. They're softer when she looks at her. 

"I was looking for flour," Skye tells Jemma. "Apparently."

Melinda ignores them and measures salt into the bowl. 

"Right." Jemma has the easier task of chopping pork for the filling. That was in the refrigerator, which meant she could grab it without wracking her brain for the English word. 

"Maybe you want to get the rest and I can do the stirring or the measuring?" Skye offers. "I can count to, like, eight, in Chinese. I think. I get six and seven backwards, but we're not going to go up higher than six in the recipe, are we?"

Looking at them both, she wonders if she should make some kind of excuse, or apologise. She lives so much of her life in English that she rarely has trouble like this. Perhaps it's because she's thinking of her mother, or because she's afraid. It's harder to speak and finding words in any language is difficult. She feels like a child, but when she was young she didn't fear like this. Fear came later. 

"Four cups of flour," she tells Skye, concentrating on the words. 

"That I can do."

Jemma beams at them both while she chops pork and cabbage into the finest, neatest pieces Melinda's ever seen. Her mother would approve at that kind of efficiency and precision. 

She'll see her tonight. Her mother will pick her up from the airport and chastise her and criticise Phil and somehow make it all okay. Melinda tries to focus on the moment, on the gentle hiss of Jemma's knife, on the way the spoon sounds against the side of the bowl and on the smell of yeast in warm water. She's safe here, with them. Caring for them both as much as she does is painless and good. They're both such extraordinary women: so enthusiastic and bright. 

Neither of them ask her what she wants, or what's she going to do, and until Phil and Trip come in for breakfast it almost feels like a normal day. How much she missed him overnight aches when he walks in, still half asleep. There's coffee now and plates of bāozi that that actually turned out fairly well considering how long it's been since Melinda made them. 

Trip wonders what they are, accepts Skye's explanation and digs in. "They smell great," he says. 

Melinda's grateful that Skye and Jemma take up the conversation and just let her sit and watch. They make small talk with Trip, joke with him about what they're going to do in New York, and keep the silence from being as oppressive as she feared. 

Phil touches her shoulder as he passes, and he sits beside her. He touches her leg under the table and she reaches for his hand. When their fingers touch, she grabs on, holding him much tighter than she thought she needed to. He smiles at her without reproach, gentle. Even what little she could say is useless and now's not the place. He squeezes back and keeps his left hand in hers. He doesn't need it to eat, and it's probably not that obvious until his coffee spills and neither of them reach for it with their closest hands. 

He starts to move his hand but she just sits there, watching the coffee roll in a brown puddle over the table. Skye and Jemma jump up, and Skye tosses a towel in front of them before the coffee gets anywhere. 

"Waste of good coffee," Skye says, staring at Melinda and Phil who still haven't moved. 

"I was just going to say how glad I was that it wasn't tea," Jemma replies, smirking. 

Skye threatens Jemma with the coffee-soaked towel and she shrieks and ducks towards the sink. Phil chuckles. Trip laughs, but his eyes are still on Phil and Melinda. Switching his gaze, he studies them because they're like statues, even when liquid ran towards them. 

Her plate's empty, so she squeezes Phil's hand on last time and leaves to get dressed for the day.

* * *

"You'll be working with the Stark Tower mainframe. It's kind of unofficially called the Avengers Tower, but if you call it the Potts Tower, everyone will think that's funnier. It's also probably more accurate, considering that her name's on the lease since it's been rebuilt." Phil sets down his tablet computer neatly on his desk then looks up at Skye. "Any other questions?"

She sits on his desk, shaking her head. "None mission related." 

"You have not mission related questions?" He almost doesn't want to ask. 

She leans in. "Are you and May okay?" 

He wonders how much she knows. Simmons and her were so sweet this morning, making breakfast and reminding Melinda that she does know that recipe for bāozi, even though she doubts her memory each time she makes them. Maybe it doesn't matter. Secrets haven't helped anyone get to this point and he needs to talk about it with someone. He always talks to Melinda when he's upset but he can't, not this time. 

"We're fine."

"You're not talking to each other."

"Not in a bad way." He looks down at his hands and the memory of how tightly she held his fingers at breakfast flies to the front of his mind. "Sometimes we do that." 

"Don't speak to each other?"

"Don't speak with each other. I keep talking, but this time there's nothing I can say." 

Skye tilts her head. "Because?"

"Because I don't want to push her."

"Push her into what?"

"Into talking about something before she's ready."

"Not ready to talk about what? I'd ask her, but she still scares me half to death."

He finds a smile for that. "She should."

"So why are you scared of her?"

"I'm not."

""I know you're together. It's pretty obvious now. You two always acted like you had a thing, and now you do have a thing. Simmons found something weird in May's blood tests, but she's not sick. You're not talking but you held hands like one of you was drowning at breakfast when you thought we couldn't see." Something clicks in Skye's head. "She's late."

"Late?"

"Late, like, need a stick to pee on instead of tampons, late. We don't have all night drug stores but we have Simmons, who's been freaked out since yesterday-- I'm right, aren't I?"

"Right about what?" Playing dumb is so beneath him, but he does it because he must be almost as afraid as May is. 

Her expression softens in sympathy. "I think this is the one thing that May and I would probably freak out equally about. She's pregnant." 

"We're not talking about it."

"Then talk about it with me because keeping it secret is about to give Jemma a breakdown and you're just as close to cracking as she is. I can really only handle one of you on the edge, so just tell me."

He leaves his chair, holding on to the back of it. "You know what was in the Guest House. You know what we've been injected with. That's in her now, because of me."

"It hasn't hurt either of us."

He has reams of paper covered with scribbling that say otherwise but he doesn't want to tell her that. He'll need to, soon, but he can only handle one crisis today. 

"What is it?"

"I--" he stops, biting his lip to keep from continuing. 

"I'm not going to tell her. You can tell me you hate the idea of being a father, or that you're freaked the hell out, because I would be. It's normal. You just got this huge promotion and someone on your team turned out to be working for neo-Nazis and your girlfriend's pregnant."

"She's not my--"

"Your best friend with benefits? Your lover? What word do you want me to use?"

"May. May's pregnant. That's important regardless of her relationship to me." 

Skye slides off the desk and folds her arms. "Uh-huh."

"You're not going to tell me that what I think is more important than what she wants? That's just wrong, Skye and I--"

She holds up her hand, staring him down with the kind of fearlessness he remembers from decades ago on another face. "Of course what she wants is important! But you don't rank things and say what she wants is more important or less important. When you care about someone, you listen and if they don't want to talk, you make them."

"Are you hiding some QNB-T16 serum behind your back?" He smiles weakly. 

"Should have brought some," Skye replies. "Look. What do you want? If May walked in here and said she wasn't going to have the baby, what would you say?"

His stomach twists. His heartbeat crashes in his ears. He tries to picture it, tries to imagine what he'll say. "Okay," is all he comes up with. 

"Okay? And you're not even going to discuss it with her?"

"It's not like that."

Skye rolls her eyes. "Then tell me what it's like."

"It's a much bigger change for her than me. I have to be supportive."

"And?"

He tries to strengthen his resolve. "There's no 'and', Skye."

"You looked like I'd promised Fitz a monkey and then shot it in front of him." 

Mentioning Fitz stings, and she brought him up to remind him of loss, of everything they could lose in a moment. 

"It's not a monkey."

"Nope. It's a kid. _Your_ kid and I think you want it."

He leans against the desk, clasping his hands in front of him and staring at the floor just past his shoes. "Of course I want it. It's a boy or a girl and he'll look like May or she'll laugh. I didn't want children. I never made them a priority, never thought about having them, but this morning May walked into the kitchen and all I could think about is how beautiful that baby's going to be. I can't tell her that. I can't walk up to her and tell her how long I lay awake last night, staring at the wall and thinking about the baby we might not have and how much I want it."

He sighs, almost unable to meet Skye's eyes. "I can't say that to her. I can't imagine how hard this is and I can't add to that. I can't make it worse than it is."

"What if she wants that too? I don't know if she does, but if she wants the kid, won't it be harder if she thinks you don't?"

"I can't push her."

"You're not pushing. You're not going to say, 'hey, I want the baby.' You'll say something like, 'I love you and whatever you decide, I'm here for you.'"

He stares at her, his mouth slightly open. "I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"I didn't say it back."

Skye's completely confused now. "What didn't you say?"

"Wǒ ài nǐ," he mutters. "I didn't say it."

"Everyone's speaking Chinese today," Skye complains, tossing her hair back behind her shoulders. "What didn't you say?" 

"She told her mother that she loved me."

"May did?"

"Yeah. I heard her and I--"

"You heard her say she loved you?" 

He tilts his head back up towards the ceiling. He's an idiot. "Yeah." 

Skye stares at him. "So what did you say?"

"I made a joke about her mother trying to kill me." 

"She should if that's how you respond to 'I love you.'" 

"Damn."

"You gotta fix that first, before you even get into the other stuff." She leans beside him on the desk. "Maybe start with that before you move to on to 'I want to build a playground in the Playground for the kid'. Being supportive doesn't mean that you stop being honest. It means being honest and then kind if she wants something other than what you want. If that's not a kid, then I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because you obviously want it. You have dad eyes. I mean, you always had dad eyes, but this-- You're a mess, you know that?"

"I love her so much." He didn't mean to admit it, but the words force themselves out. "And she would be such a good mother."

"Hey." Skye smiles at him and for a second she looks like she's about to cry. "Maybe you should go to her room where she's packing up and tell her that. Don't tell me she knows, because obviously you messed that up." 

"I didn't mean to."

She pats his arm, then hugs him, tight because he might be the director of a secret agency but he's also just a guy who'd be a really good dad who's trying to be a good boyfriend. His hands go tentatively behind her back, then he holds on tight. 

"You love her. You love the kid. I'm assuming S.H.I.E.L.D. has some kind of 'I actually want to have a life while I save the world' auxiliary plan you can talk about. Otherwise I'm pretty good with older kids but I wouldn't know what to do with a baby--"

"Skye?"

She ends the hug with an extra squeeze because he kind of sounds like he's going to cry. "Yeah?"

"None of us know what to do with a baby."

"Right. Well, better get Jemma started on that. You know she likes to prepare."

* * *

Skye settles into the co-pilot's seat as the Atlantic Ocean passes beneath them. Melinda's become accustomed to Skye's presence, and she enjoys it. She's so fond of the bright young woman who's grown so much since she came on board. She nods to her in welcome. Does Skye know? Did Phil tell her? Does she want to talk about it? 

Skye looks straight ahead. "AC told me."

She keeps her eyes forward, because that seems easier for both of them. Skye won't expect her to talk, she knows her well enough for that. It occurs to Melinda slowly that Skye might need to talk about it. Her relationship with Phil changes things for everyone. She didn't want to make it public for that reason, but it's out. A baby would change everything even more. Maybe too much. 

"Know something funny? If it was me, you're the first person I'd come running to talk to." Skye pulls her knees up to her chest. "You wouldn't judge me, no matter what I said. I've never had that. I've never had anything like this. You and AC, Simmons, Fitz, you're family. Even Trip's like the big brother I never had. It's safe here. Is it like that for you? I suppose it's different, because you have your mother--"

There's something so wistful about the way Skye says it that Melinda turns her eyes from her instruments for a moment. "She's not the easiest person to talk to." 

"AC implied she's pretty intense."

"Yes."

"How does she feel about it?"

"You mean how she feels about my complete lack of consideration for how much a grandchild will alter her life?"

Skye smirks and looks over, resting her chin on her knee. "She said that?"

"She's still angry because she still thinks Coulson let me get shot."

"That was Hydra, well, S.H.I.E.L.D. really."

She flicks two switches, transmitting their request for landing to the Stark Industries private airfield north of New York. "Maybe I should have worked for an agency I can trust not to shoot me."

"Good luck."

Melinda smiles forward, relieved her sunglasses are hiding her eyes. "My mother will support what I want."

"We all will," Skye promises. "You're family."

They've built a sturdy little family, and Melinda still doesn't know if she wants to add to it. Everyone's equal now. There are no weak points. They need Fitz to heal while they build S.H.I.E.L.D. differently. Phil will construct a far different organisation than Hydra burned. Can he do that with a child who needs him? It seems he wants to. She could see hope in his eyes, but does he understand how much work this is? How much it will take from both of them? There will be months where she won't be able to go into the field and Phil and Trip will have to keep Jemma and Skye safe. She can keep training them, but will that be enough? Isn't she failing them if she lets them get hurt because she selfishly decides she wants to keep this child?

"That almost makes it harder."

Skye looks forward again, watching the clouds. "I wouldn't, if it was me. I'm young and stupid, and I wouldn't trust myself not to screw up someone's life." She's always admired Skye's ease with brutal honesty. 

"Age doesn't preclude stupidity."

"It's not your fault."

"I was a willing participant."

Skye smiles but flushes a little. "Apparently you were both pretty willing."

"So you don't want to know how many times we participated in his office?"

Shocked, Skye drops her feet back to the floor. "His office? You were in his office? I was just in there." She holds up her hand. "Don't say anything else. I have to go in there and act like AC's my boss and the responsible director of a secret agency. I can't think about you guys... and that."

"He takes off his tie sometimes." 

Skye covers her mouth and shakes her head. "I take back wanting to be nice to you. I take it all back. You deserve this."

Turning to look at Skye, Melinda smiles easier than she has all day. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm not even going to be able to look at AC for weeks with that in my head."

"Was Ward and I so different?"

"Other than Ward being a psychonazi? Yeah. He might have turned out crazy, but he was hot and you had that soldiers in arms thing. AC's different."

"He's still hot."

Skye holds up her hand between them. "Yeah, but he's also the closest thing I have to a father, so we need to keep the conversation on a level where I can still look at both of you without needing to hide behind Simmons."

Melinda nods. Somehow, Skye's discomfort almost makes it easier. There's a reality in the way she looks up to both of them. It's grounding. 

In the silence, Skye's expression darkens. "You know about T.A.H.I.T.I., right?"

"The alien origin of the compound that got me pregnant?" Trying to keep her voice cool only makes her sound more afraid. She wonders what's worse for Skye, knowing she had sex with the man who's like her father or knowing how much this baby terrifies her. 

"Yeah, I mean, that's got to be really weird. Being knocked up would be bad enough. Having alien stuff involved... That's pretty freaky." Skye turns to study her. "And you're still a statue, but that means it's all underneath, isn't it? What can you use fear for?"

Melinda flicks on the autopilot and pulls her hands back. She lifts her sunglasses and rubs her eyes, because they ache. "Fear keeps you alive." 

Skye touches her shoulder. "We're all here for you guys. Whatever you need. I'm not the greatest nurse or anything, but if you want someone to go with you, or sit with you, I will. I promise I'll talk less than Simmons." 

What Skye's just offered to do resonates like a bell through Melinda's chest. She reaches for Skye's hand, and then, surprising them both, she hugs her. It's a weird angle over the seats and she's probably holding her too tight, but she's so grateful. 

"I don't think I can," she whispers into Skye's hair. "I should. It's so much to ask of Phil, of you, of Simmons, even of my mother, but I--"

Shifting in her chair, Skye sits up straight and holds her just as tightly back. "That's okay. It's totally okay."

"I should--"

"No, you do what you want, live your life. I think you deserve a life after you've saved the world so much. If you want a kid, I think the world owes you one. Or, I guess in this case another world because there's that alien stuff--"

She thought she'd hold it together until she saw her mother. She didn't cry in front of Simmons, or Phil, and she's making terrible jokes with Skye about aliens and where she and Phil made love and that's what sets her off. Skye, who must be so uncomfortable, holds her tight and whispers nothing important. Melinda can't even be sure why she's crying. She's frightened. Everyone's walking around eggshells around her trying to support what she wants, but how is she's meant to know what that is when she's never even thought she could be in this place? Her body's always been what she could count on. Her mind falters, but her muscles know what to do. 

Her body seems to have made her choice. She doesn't even feel that different, but her body's managed to cling to this new life through sparring sessions and g-forces and birth control that said it shouldn't be. 

Voices carry over the plane's engines. Phil's little meeting about the Guest House and the T.A.H.I.T.I. project must not be going well. Should Skye be there? Should she let her go make the peace between Phil and Triplett? 

Skye holds her tighter when she tries to pull away. "If you want this, we're all behind you. Simmons and I have already talked about learning to babysit, and she started looking for an internship as a midwife so you don't have to have someone you don't know. And AC, he's a mess. I know he's an idiot sometimes and I think you love him anyway, so cut him some slack while he gets it together, okay? He's not as controlled as you are."

Skye's insisting Melinda has control when she's hiding her eyes in Skye's denim jacket and wishing her mother was on the damn plane. She only manages to let go when the flight controls demand her attention. 

"I won't tell anyone."

Melinda dries her eyes and hids back behind her sunglasses. "Thanks."

"He really loves you."

She nods, but that makes her tears threaten again so she tunes out of the conversation and focuses on the plane. Skye remains, silent by her side as they land.

* * *

"So half the plane has alien genetic material inside of them?" Triplett asks, staring at the floor in front of his feet. 

"Technically sixty percent," Simmons corrects. "As there are five of us."

"And you and Agent May were- are- involved?"

"It's not in violation of protocol."

"With all respect, Sir. Protocol doesn't talk about what the director does in his free time because the director's supposed to show discretion. Sure, there were rumours about Fury, some of them about him and Agent Hill, but they were always professional in public."

Phil keeps his hands at his sides, trying to read what's behind Triplett's frustration. "My relationship with Agent May hasn't strayed beyond the professional."

"We're detouring our mission so she can take off again--"

"We're detouring the mission because I need the resources of Stark Industries since we no longer have the medical facilities of the Hub or the Triskelion to fall back on," Simmons insists. "And Fitz is--"

"Hey, I miss the little guy, too, but we should be recruiting. We can't rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. with one plane and a handful of agents, where some of them are involved with--"

"Would you be as upset if it were Agent Skye and I who were involved instead?" Simmons asks. Her eyes have gone steel again and Phil wonders how long it will take her to realise what strength she has. 

"You're both what, level four?"

"I'm level five."

"Skye probably should be promoted to level two," Phil interjects. "I'll have to do that."

"As long as hold your secrets, I don't care what you and Skye do together. Director Coulson and Agent May are a different situation. They're basically the two highest ranking people we have left. What if you lose focus?"

Phil holds his coffee thoughtfully in front of him. There's no nice way to say how little focus he has at the moment. Every time the plane changes direction, he wants to go talk to Melinda. Skye has to be with her, and that's good, because Skye's good for her, but he has to tell her what he failed to tell her before. He owes her so much. 

"Then we'll trust you to keep us on point."

"You just met me, Sir."

"Sometimes you don't need much time to judge a person, Trip." Phil looks from Simmons back to Triplett. It will be hard, harder still if Melinda keeps the baby and they have to balance all of S.H.I.E.L.D. and their child. "May and I are professionals. We'll keep our relationship compartmentalised and keep working together for the benefit of the organisation. If we start going astray, we have you, Simmons and Skye to steer us back. We're a small organisation now. More like a family, and we have to trust each other. I don't want this S.H.I.E.L.D. to be founded on anything else."

"Director Fury didn't put much stock in trust, Sir."

"That's why we're going to try it this way."

"For the record, Director, I think your relationship with Agent May is ill-advised and potentially dangerous. She's a specialist. You're going to have to send her into the line of fire just about every day. Are you going to be all right with that? I wouldn't be, if it were me."

He can't look at Simmons, her emotions are too naked on her face. Phil forces himself to look at Trip, to think like an agent, not like a man in love.

"I've sent May into some pretty bad places."

"Are you going to be able to forgive yourself if she doesn't come back?"

Trip's right, of course, but it still hits like a punch in the gut. If he sends Melinda to her death, he'll be taking away his child's mother, just like his father was taken from him. He'll be the one who had to live with that knowledge. For a moment, he wants to throw up. He hates Fury for putting this on him. If he was still an agent, it wouldn't matter. He'd take leave with Melinda when the baby came, and take a desk job while she went back to work. He'd have the baby sleep in his office while he did paperwork. 

That'll probably still happen because he needs Melinda in the field. She knows that just as well as he does. 

"No," he answers Trip's question finally. "I'll destroy myself if that happens. I know that's selfish and part of me thinks S.H.I.E.L.D. ought to come first, but it's come first my entire life. S.H.I.E.L.D. came first when I died. This time, I'm going to put myself first. I'm sorry for the extra burden that puts on you and the rest of the team. I'm sure we both are, but this is what we need to do. I hope you all can make that choice when you get to it. You can't always give yourself up to save the world, otherwise you'll forget what you're trying to save."

"Take your seats for landing," Skye's voice comes over the intercom. She must still be up front with Melinda. 

"This isn't the last discussion we're going to have about this," Trip says.

"No," Phil agrees, taking his seat. "And I appreciate that." 

After they've landed, while Skye, Triplett and Simmons collect their things for a week in New York, he notices the damp patch on Skye's shoulder and realises where it must have come from. He hasn't seem Melinda cry in years. 

Pepper said she cried at his funeral. That Maria sat with her and said nothing while Melinda's tears fell onto the grass. He wishes again he could have protected her from that pain. As much as he wants to hate Fury, T.A.H.I.T.I. brought him back so that Melinda didn't really have to bury him that day. T.A.H.I.T.I. also brought life to their child, so maybe there's a little magic there after all. That magic has had a price, but they've paid it. They've paid enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks again to my betas. I <3 you both so much for the time and effort you take out of your busy lives.
> 
> I abuse science. I'm not a scientist, it's probably only vaguely right because it's half what I need for plot and half things I nicked from wikipedia. I've also entirely made up Mrs. May's first name and backstory.

Rain drums heavy on the roof of the airplane hangar in New York. The air's cold and thick, clinging to the earth. It's a sharp change from the Playground and the warmth closer to the equator. He pulls his jacket a little tighter and closes the top button.

Simmons, Skye and Trip file down the cargo ramp, bags in hand. He waits by Lola while the rest of them get into the SUV. Trip can find Stark/Avenger Tower, whatever Tony's calling it these days, and Maria's going to meet them and get them settled. Simmons and Skye both watch him as they get in. Simmons smiles gently while Skye's look is more forcefully encouraging. He tries to smile back but it falters. He doesn't know what he's doing. Okay, sure, he loves her and he wants to see her parent because she'd be incredible. He wants to risk this with her. In his life, this is the time he's wanted to bring a new person into the world and show them how wonderful it is.

She might not. There's the physical toll, the time away from their child and from their work, the emotional struggle of caring for someone so vulnerable and the terrifying thought that they could leave that child alone at any moment. Who are they going to name guardian? Will this child grow up with retired Secretary May? Pepper? Maria? Natasha and Clint? Who's going to teach her how to ride a bike if something happens to her parents? Growing up without his father left marks on his heart. Can he risk doing that to his child?

Phil shuts his eyes and listens to the rain and the whine of the engines as they cool. He's too far ahead of himself. What Melinda wants, what she needs from him has to come first. Skye's admonitions still sting. He has to be honest, but when she appears in the cockpit doorway, he only wants to help her. Part of him wants to run up and hold her. Tell her how much of an idiot he is, because he loves her, more than he thought possible.

He doesn't run. Melinda walks out of the cockpit, bag in hand. He meets her by the stairs and puts his hand out for her bag. She smiles, tentative. She still has her sunglasses on, which is surprising in the rain. She removes them, tucking them into the bag before she hands it over. Her eyes are red. It's been years since he's seen her cry and he remembers the eerie silence while tears rolled down her face. He never knew who she was crying for then. Now he can't be sure if it's because of what she can't have or because she's decided to throw everything up in the air as he is. He can't truly understand what he's asking of her in his heart. It won't be his body that changes, and takes him away from the field.

She leads the way to Lola and gets in next to him, still silent, but it's comfortable in a way it hasn't been for awhile. He raises the roof and backs out of the Bus. The cargo ramp closes and the plane locks itself down.

"Feels like leaving home," he says. It's a stupid thing to say.

"It is." She looks at him, just for a moment and there's so much pain in her eyes that he can't drag his eyes back to the tarmac and the road ahead.

He can't fix this. It's not Bahrain, but the ache is the same.

"We'll be back," she promises, turning her eyes forward again. What does that mean? They'll return to the Bus as they were a week ago? Together, but only behind closed doors? Maybe they'll be together publicly, but without the added responsibility of a child. What's that going to do to them both? How many angry conversations is he going to have with Skye before he breaks down? He'd never tell Melinda to keep the baby if she doesn't want to, but he'll grieve for what could have been. He's helpless and he can't even be frustrated because he loves her. She holds the future of his life in her hands, and he's always trusted them.

He drives. Rain slides off the windshield and up over Lola, leaving streaks of silver. The rain is their only company. He shifts, and her hand covers his, gently enough to not distract from his driving, but heavy enough to be there, with him. When they move onto the freeway, her hand traces up his arm and brushes the back of his neck. Her fingers are warm and Simmons' concerns about her being feverish rise in his stomach. She hasn't said anything. She doesn't look ill, but her skin is more pink than usual. Is he just worrying? Is it the light? He wants to pull over onto the shoulder and make sure, but that's foolish, so he drives.

Melinda's hand stays on the back of his neck while she settles in to her seat, staring straight ahead.

It's hardly scenic down to Newark airport and he doesn't even bother to turn on the radio. He would have found her another flight, something Air Force, but she insisted she didn't mind. Newark to Buffalo's pretty short, and it's not that far from Buffalo to her mother's house in the Pennsylvania woods. He's never been sure why former Secretary May picked such an isolated place. She could have had anywhere she wanted, a cottage in the Orkneys, the Mount Victoria above Hong Kong, but she chose Pennsylvania, bought a huge old farmhouse and retired to a country that had never held her loyalty. Perhaps it was easier to distance herself that way. He'd never asked, and probably never will. It's a beautiful house, and Melinda's always been fond of it.

They slide into traffic around the airport. It's busy, because it's always busy, and he's going to have to leave her in the drop off zone where he's not even really supposed to get out of the car.

Phil leaves Lola running and reaches for his door to get her bag out of the trunk.

"I'm not running away from you," she says. Melinda turns and her eyes are wet, matching the rain. "I don't want you to think it's you that I need to be away from."

"I know it's not." He still smiles and she reaches for his chin.

"You do now."

"I do now," he agrees. "You're okay?"

"I don't know." Her lips brush his cheek. "When I do, I'll tell you."

"If you need me--"

That makes her smile, really smile, the way her whole face changes. "I know." Melinda gets out of Lola, closing the door carefully.

He circles around, collecting her bag and she meets him by the trunk. Rain's falling all around them, catching in her hair. She takes the strap from his hand and their fingers touch. Her skin is warm, much warmer than usual, and part of him wants to follow her into the airport and go with her to make sure she's safe. She runs her hand down the side of his face, shaking away the rain.

He leans forward and kisses her forehead. Her arms slide around his neck and she holds him tight. The world moves around them, wet, busy and chaotic, but she's all that matters. He curls into her, losing his fears.

"You want the baby," she whispers. It's not an accusation, instead it's almost wistful, as if that's something she wants to happen.

"I want you, Qiaolian."

She pulls away, smiling. "That was right."

"I said I'd get it."

Melinda squeezes his hand. "I'll see you soon." She doesn't say a week or a few days, or put any amount of time on it. He's not sure if that's an invitation, or something that he should fear. She's less tense now, less like iron, more soft, human.

"Whatever you need to do," he says again.

"I know."

She takes a few steps then turns back, hurrying to him to kiss him. It's harsh and warm. She tastes like rain, and he's probably had Lola parked too long, but that's the least important thought. They rarely kiss like this: thoughtless and desperate to be close to each other. She finally pulls away. The rain falls between them and she disappears into the airport.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, staring into the last hint of her black jacket disappears into the crowd.

* * *

"We've established a dedicated link with San Antonio Military Medical Center," former Agent Hill explains as she shows Jemma around her temporary lab. "You'll be able to video conference with Agent Fitz' medical team."

"If we had anything new to conference about."

Hill's expression is sympathetic but distant and professional. Being in her presence is still intimidating for Jemma. Hill was level nine, after all. She was Fury's right hand for years. Now she's in the private sector, and her reach is no less profound.

"Hopefully you'll be able to make a breakthrough. Stark Industries has some very impressive biotech equipment and several scientists in residence with high security clearance that you'll be able to consult with."

That's also intimidating, but Jemma nods, because Hill's being nice.

"Just ask one of the techs if you need anything, all right?"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I'm retired, Agent." Hill smiles. "There's no ma'am."

"Right, sorry."

"I'll let you get to it."

Hill leaves her alone in the spotless laboratory. Much of the equipment is updated version of what they have on the Bus, there is an impressive array of other diagnostic tools, much of them too sensitive or complex to be on the plane. Several million dollars went into supplying her corner of the lab alone and for a moment she almost feels bad touching anything. She's here for Fitz, and May, and she's been the youngest person in her lab most of her life. She can handle this.

Transferring all her data onto the Stark Industries computers takes very little time, and she's able to get right in to her analysis. She'll have to be careful with May's blood until she comes back, but Skye's only a few floors over and though she complains, she always lets Jemma take blood samples.

If she wants to study the GH protein, she needs more of it. She'll need an expression system. The fridge full of cell cultures down the corridor offers her a wide array to chose from, but she might as well start with the basics. Grabbing samples of _E. coli_ , _C. glutamicum_ and _P. fluorescens_ , Jemma takes them back to her work bench and starts separating the GH DNA from Skye's blood sample. She'll only have a tiny amount, but if she can get any of the cultures to start producing, she'll have more to work with.

She's just finished, and placing her petri dishes in the incubator, when she sees her first other scientist. He looks kind of scruffy, brown hair with a little grey, and a rumpled shirt beneath his lab coat.

"Protein expression?"

She nods. "I'm trying to isolate a protein that's been eluding me for awhile. I haven't had the equipment to do a full expression in my lab."

"They do have the best equipment here," he says. He extends his hand, almost shyly. "I'm Bruce, Banner. Dr. Banner, but we're all doctors aren't we?"

"I suppose we are," she replies, trying to stay calm. "Simmons. Biochem, I mean, I have a double doctorate in biology and chemistry."

"Nuclear physics--"

"I know! I've read several of your papers on the perpetuation of gamma rays and your most recent one on gamma rays and hypernovae."

"You did?"

"Agent Weaver recommended them." Her smile fades. "She had a great appreciation for your work."

"I didn't know it really interested anyone but the military."

"Gamma radiation is a subject of a whole line of research at the Academy-" she stops. "I mean, it was, before."

"I'm sorry."

"Secret organisations within secret organisations, I suppose we're not meant to be surprised by that." She looks down at her hands. Agent Weaver would be such a help with her work. She always loved a puzzle.

"I'm sorry that so many people you knew must have died."

"Oh." She's unprepared for that. Everything's happened so quickly. First Hydra, then Fitz and now May and Coulson might be in danger. Jemma tries to be grateful for life in the midst of so much death and destruction, but it's hard some days.

"I usually work by myself now, but I remember being on a team and it was nice. I'm sorry if you lost people you worked with."

She nods. "Me, too."

"May I?" He surveys her samples, then looks at the charts open on her tablet. "I like to dabble. Never officially picked up medicine, always wondered if I should."

She's missed this. Having someone to talk to who understands, who cares about research, but she needs to ask. "What's your security clearance?"

"Not high," he says, almost sheepish. "I kind of need two."

Of course he's shy talking about his other personality. She would be if she had part of her that broke the rules so often. "This one of you?"

"Four."

"I'll have to authorise you," she says. Taking the tablet, Jemma enters her authorisation code, even though it's really only for Skye, who maintains the records, and Coulson, who might someday look at them.

"Thank you."

She hands back over the tablet and he reads it over.

"So this is a regenerative protein?"

"I think so. It's shown powerful regenerative properties in two of the three subjects. Both had a similar dose so their responses are predictably similar."

"The third subject was exposed over time?"

She nods, trying to keep herself from blushing. "Low doses, unintentionally over many weeks. It seems to have reached a point of equilibrium within her system."

"It's greatly increased her production of the BRCA1."

"Where do you see that?"

"Here," he points to a subgraph she hasn't looked at in detail. "I think one of the side effects of this GH protein is increased production of BRCA1 and BRCA2."

"Which is in line with its behaviour as a regenerative serum." She paces in front of the cell cultures. "If the GH protein encourages the healthy production of BRCA1 and BRCA2, then certain degradations of DNA through ageing-"

"-Might be affected by the GH protein," he finishes her thought and nods. "BRCA1 and BRCA2 are both responsible for maintaining healthy DNA. If this protein of yours increases their production, especially if they're clean, without mutation, you're talking about levels of healing at cancerous speeds, without any danger of unnatural cell development."

"Especially useful for stimulating homologous recombinational repair, which would, among other things, increase the viability of the ovarian reserve."

"Are you studying infertility?"

She shakes her head and pulls up another chart. "No, conception was an unexpected outcome of the accidental exposure."

"Considering subject three's well above predicted levels of homologous recombinational repair and improved oocyte meiosis, it must have been a hell of a surprise if she wasn't trying to conceive."

"Quite," Jemma agrees. She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I know all of them."

"That's hard. Then subject three wasn't trying to--"

"No."

"On the upside, you may have discovered an effective fertility treatment, provided the side effects aren't too extreme."

"Earlier tests on full doses led to mental instability and total psychological collapse." She's read too many of the T.A.H.I.T.I. files now to consider it anything but a curse. "Subject one and two haven't shown signs yet, but-"

"You're worried."

"They're my friends."

He nods. "It's tough. Being responsible for people you care about."

"This protein should have a whole team of geneticists working on it. It should be studied and taken apart until we can reconstruct it from the DNA up, make it work." Jemma glances over at the other computer, wondering if the feed to San Antonio has been set up yet. "It should be able to help people. Save them, bring them back--" she sighs again. "There's a fourth potential subject. I'd started researching this to help him. I don't even know if it will, even if I find a suitable protein expression system and I can create a large enough dose, if there are side effects I don't understand, most of my team's already been exposed. If something goes wrong..."

"You could watch all of them deteriorate around you." He meets her eyes and winces. "Sorry. I didn't mean that to sound so dire."

"It's all right." She straightens and tries to smile. "It's the truth. Sometimes the truth is dire. There's also a chance that all of them will be fine, that I'll find a way to extract the GH protein and help him or that subject four will just wake up and realise how many monkeys I've put in his hospital room." Her smile breaks and she can't hold it together. "I'm going to make some tea."

"I'd love tea."

"Great," she says, blinking until her eyes are clear. "Where's the kitchen?"

* * *

"You have a better view from this office," Phil says, standing across from Maria's new desk. Her technical title is executive vice president of external communications, which is neatly printed on her Stark Industries business cards. "Unless you miss the helicarrier."

"This is a little more down to earth," she says. "Coffee?"

"Please."

She nods to her assistant and shuts the door. New York continues to glisten in the rain below. "So you got May to take some time off?"

"Not exactly- I mean- I didn't do anything, she asked."

Maria raises her eyebrows. "She did?"

"It's complicated."

A steady hand sets coffee in front of him, then hands a cup to Maria. She looks at the woman who brought it for a moment, almost surprised, but Phil doesn't pay any attention to her. Maria waits for him to elaborate. The woman who brought the coffee returns and perches on the corner of Maria's desk. Confused, Phil glances up, following the long line of her legs to her tailored suit and--

"Pepper."

"Still take it black?" she asks, smiling.

"I didn't even notice it was you."

"I still remember some of my assistant duties, from awhile back. I think it keeps me humble."

"And she makes coffee better than my secretary."

"You could change secretaries or make your own coffee."

Maria shrugs. "Or wait for you to get bored and come downstairs."

Phil stares at the surface of his own coffee, losing himself in it. The memory of Melinda's mouth on his still glows in his thoughts, taking up much of his ability to concentrate.

"May took a week off," Maria tells Pepper.

"Really?"

When he looks up, Maria's staring at him. "Phil's going to tell us why."

Pepper's tone is low and sympathetic. "Did you fight again?"

"You shouldn't blame her," Maria says. "Fury makes his orders difficult to refuse."

He nods. That's long over between them. He was stupid. "We're done with that."

"Then why do you look like someone scribbled all over a mint condition set of Captain America cards?"

Phil's not even sure he can say it. "Melinda and I--"

"So the cellist is over?"

Maria shrugs. "Guess it didn't work out. It's hard when they don't have security clearance."

"And you're dead," Pepper finishes for her. "Which I still haven't forgiven you for, Phil."

He stares at them both, almost angry. "I'm not with May because of the practicality of her knowing I'm alive."

"Faking his death really wasn't his choice," Maria mutters over her coffee.

Pepper shakes her head, threat in her eyes. "Oh, you can bet I have several things that I would love to get Nick Fury alone in a room to talk about, may he rest in peace."

"Back to Melinda," Maria says. Phil's not sure he's ever heard her call May by her first name. He's not even sure how well they know each other. Melinda's obviously closer to Fury than he thought. Perhaps they're also friends.

"Melinda and I--" Pepper corrects. "So there's something there?"

Maria pulls herself up on the desk next to Pepper and they both watch him. "Whole agency thought so for years."

"Really?"

"They were inseparable."

He can nearly hear her add 'until Bahrain', but both of them leave that unsaid.

"Fury asked her to watch you because he knew that she'd never let you go wrong." Maria swirls her coffee thoughtfully. "He didn't trust many people, but he chose well when he did. May did what she had to do."

"I know, we're past that."

"How far past that?" Pepper asks.

Both of them stare at him with the patience of interrogators. Other than Melinda, they're his closest friends. He really needs to learn how not to be outmanoeuvred by the women in his life. If that's even possible.

"Melinda and I--"

"Are together?" Maria finishes for him.

"Pregnant," he corrects.

Maria sets down her coffee.

Pepper gulps the mouthful she had and covers her lips. "Pregnant?"

"She is, I'm not. Except, well, I guess I sort of am."

"You got her pregnant?"

Pepper slides off the desk and sits next to him on the sofa in front of Maria's desk. "Oh, Phil."

"We weren't, I mean we didn't--"

"I bet not," Maria says. She rests her hands on her knees. "You guys okay?"

Pepper takes his coffee and sets it down on the table in front of him. "Do you need anything?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Of course he doesn't know," Maria says. She shakes her head at Pepper. "How's he supposed to know? Do you think Tony would have any idea what to do if you guys--"

Pepper raises her eyebrows. "No. He'd probably start building a robot nanny."

"Phil's a little wiser than that."

"You're going to need help. Someone to run the agency when you're both on leave. An obstetrician, a nanny, or at least a list of babysitters. I have a very good OB I can--"

"May's mother will have one," Maria interrupts. He's never found out how they met, if it was on a mission or some other incident, but Maria and Secretary May have always understood each other.

"Good, that's good. Do you want me to start looking for nannies? You really need to start early."

"Pepper, thanks, but--"

"You have a company to run," Maria reminds her.

"Do you know how much fun it would be to look for nannies and watch Tony squirm because he wouldn't dare ask me why I was looking?" Pepper's smile has the kind of wickedness that makes Phil glad he never went against her.

"Fair point. Are you going to need an interim director? Do you need a safehouse for a while? I'm not sure what the timeline is, but if you give us the details we can--"

Arranging his life has suddenly become an operation, complete with timelines. "I don't know if we're--"

Maria nods. Pepper takes a second longer, then her eyebrows widen.

"Whatever you need, Phil," she assures him. "Really, if there's anything." She holds his hands and stops his fidgeting. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?"

"Yes, that's something you need to think about."

"I want her."

Maria nods and she smiles, just a little. "You should."

"And the pregnancy? If that ends up being a baby?"

"I'd like that, too." It sounds incredibly pathetic when he says it, but neither of them seem to think so.

"And you told her?"

"She knows."

"And what does she want?"

He shrugs and looks from Pepper's concerned blue eyes to Maria's inscrutable ones. "I don't know if she's decided yet. It's a lot to ask."

"We'll make it work," Maria promises. "I can take over as interim director for a few months, Romanoff, Rogers and Barton are easily brought in. Romanoff has the security clearance. Despite appearances, Barton's very organised and Rogers can keep us all on the side of idealism. Which is what S.H.I.E.L.D.'s trying for now."

"It's a good change," Pepper says. "Trusting those around you is much more important than Fury ever gave it credit for being."

"You're going to bring in half of the Avengers so May and I can go on parental leave?"

"I'd bring in all of them if I could, Thor's great for morale and he makes a fantastic lunch. Banner's an asset as well, but he often comes attached to Stark--"

"Who's the last person you want in charge of a secret organisation. He couldn't keep his own identity secret through one press conference." Pepper makes a mental list of what the nascent S.H.I.E.L.D. would need if the director and his second both needed some time off. "If you're keeping your Bus as a mobile command centre, Rogers, Barton and Romanoff would be good additions to your team, Maria."

"With Simmons and Skye we'd have a functional team. Assuming they wouldn't mind a little Avengers invasion."

"They'll probably miss Thor."

Maria shrugs. "I'll ask him. I don't know if he's available. I hear he's great with kids."

"Really?"

"It's in his file. He can cook, great with kids and animals, always does the dishes--"

Pepper smirks. "I should have held out for an Asgardian."

Maria nods. "Oh, we all should have."

"You'd really do this?" He asks before they can get deeper into their conversation about how fantastic Thor is.

"Just because it's a secret organisation doesn't mean we can overlook basic employee rights like parental leave. You two will be difficult to replace, but certainly not impossible." Maria opens the calendar on her computer. "Okay, just hypothetically, what's the timeline?"

"Timeline?"

"When's she due?" Pepper asks more gently. "Have you had an ultrasound?"

He wasn't ready for any of these questions and just stares at them both, dumb.

"How pregnant is she?" Maria asks. "When will she have the baby?"

"Simmons said ten weeks, but that actually meant eight and--"

Maria counts through her calendar. "It's a ridiculous method of dating."

"Simmons said that too."

"March?" Pepper guesses.

Maria agrees and makes a note in her calendar. "I'll make preliminary arrangements, if something changes, I'll cancel. It's fine, Phil." She never refers to him by his first name. She rose so quickly through the ranks that it feels like she's always been his superior officer.

"You'll cancel, just like that?"

"I can plan an OP without notifying the participants," Maria reminds him. "What you and May need to know is that we've got this. Whatever you need, whatever you need to do, we'll take care of it."

He looks at them both, more than a bit dumbfounded. When he took that black cube from Fury and agreed to become Director of the new S.H.I.E.L.D., he didn't think about back up. Phil didn't worry about who would do the job if he needed time, because he's never really had a life. He'd fit dates with Audrey in around OPs and had no family outside of his work. He hadn't ever needed help balancing, and now he does.

"Thank you."

"Of course, Phil." Pepper puts her arm around his shoulders. "This is a big shock, for anyone. Even when you are trying it's a lot to get used to. You have to give yourself room to feel whatever you're feeling."

"What if it's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Pepper asks.

Leaving her computer, Maria sits down at Pepper's side on the sofa. "If you and Melinda want different things, you'll have to work that out. You said you wanted her?"

"I love her."

Pepper squeezes his shoulders. "Whatever she decides, we're here, okay?"

* * *

"You look sick," her mother says. She puts out her hand and takes Melinda's bag.

She knows better than to aruge, yet she does. "I'm not sick."

"But you look sick." She tosses the bag into the back seat of her silver SUV then gets in. Melinda can't even get her seat belt fastened before her mother touches her forehead. "You're warm."

"I feel fine."

"Don't lie, Qiaolian."

"I'm tired. My head hurts and yes, I am a little warm." She sighs and rubs her eyes, digging her fingers into the pressure points just above her nose. "It's better than being cold."

"You were cold?" Her mother flicks the heat on.

"It was cold on the plane."

"You shouldn't fly commercial. Your agency should have found you transportation."

More than an hours' drive is ahead of them and this is what she has to look forward to. She tries to get comfortable, than realises slowly that she has to pee. "You know there's not much left of my agency at the moment."

"They still shouldn't make you fly coach." Her mother puts the car into gear and Melinda has to look over sheepishly.

"I have to use the bathroom."

"There weren't bathrooms in the airport?" Her mother pulls out of her parking space and sighs. "I'll stop. You'll need tea."

"I don't need tea."

"We'll stop and you'll have tea. It'll warm you up."

She's not really cold. More in that in-between place where her skin's too warm but she's cold on the inside. "Okay."

They drive in silence until her mother pulls into the coffee shop. She lets her mother order for her and retreats to the bathroom. She didn't drink much on the plane. Is this part of being pregnant? Is it starting? She thought having to pee more often would come later, but she really doesn't know. She knows next to nothing about having a child, and Phil's the same. No wonder they're such a wreck together.

Her mother hands her tea and a muffin when Melinda gets back into the car. She's rarely allowed to eat in the car because her mother's been keeping it nice. She didn't think she was hungry but it smells good through the bag. She tears off pieces and eats them with painstaking care.

"So what did he say?"

"Mama--"

"Don't avoid it, Qiaolian. What did he say?"

She sets the muffin down, suddenly not hungry. "He wants me in his life and he said I should do whatever I want to do."

"No commitment there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did he offer to marry you? Agree to help raise your child? Will he get up with you in the middle of the night? Sit through doctor's appointments, recitals and violin lessons?"

Melinda shuts her eyes, trying not to picture the tiny violin she never learned to play. Learning martial arts so well saved her from a million other things that her mother would have wanted her to learn. "He doesn't have to marry me."

"Do you want him to?"

"Yes," she says, without even thinking.

Her mother smirks, all too proud of herself. "Good."

"Good?"

"I like some things to be traditional."

"You haven't seen my father in forty years."

Her mother keeps her eyes on the road. "Still married him."

"He could be dead."

"He's not."

"I can't marry Phil like that."

"Nor should you, it's a terrible thing."

Melinda turns to the window, lifting her leg to hug her knee to her chest.

"Boots," her mother reminds her.

Sighing, she unties her boots and gets comfortable on the seat in her socks. Her muffin smells good again so she keeps eating it, trying not to think of the mess she's just walked into by admitting she wants to get married. It was a gut reaction, an impulse, and she has no idea Phil would even want that. She had no idea that she did until she said it. It's going to be a long week.

"Tell me about the baby."

By the time she reaches her mother's house, she's going to be ready to go back to the Bus. "I don't think it has much of a personality yet."

"Is it someone you'd like to know?"

She was tripped up last time so she holds her tongue and really thinks about the answer. Her heart and her head rarely war. Usually she can make her heart obey, channel it into something useful, but the well of emotion she's fighting doesn't seem to have any purpose. She's tired, never seems to be the right temperature and she cried. She doesn't cry. Then, she kissed Phil. Remembering that almost makes her smile.

"I think I might."

"Qiaolian, that is a big responsibility."

"I know, Mama."

"You'll need help."

"Apparently I'll have my husband," she says, rolling her eyes.

"You need more than that. You'll need someone to run your agency while Phillip's a mess about you and the baby. Someone needs to protect your team."

Her thoughts immediately fly to Natasha, which is impossible. She's far too busy. She's creating a new cover and she's one of the most wanted spies in the world. She can't drop everything to take Trip, Skye and Simmons into the field. Yet, that's what she wants. She's more like her mother than she's ever wanted to admit.

"We'll find someone."

"You should call Maria."

"She works for Stark now."

"She works for Potts, Qiaolian, Stark's just a noisy man with lots of toys."

"Then she's busy."

"Am I not busy?"

"Of course you are, Mama and I--"

"It's far too late for 'thank you'."

She's never going to get that right.

"I couldn't leave my grandchild at the airport."

Melinda's eyes sting suddenly and she has to look away out into the rain.

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know."

"If you don't want this, you can tell Phil you lost it. It's still early, that happens."

"No," she says, shaking her head. For all the energy she thought she was putting into not crying, tears start to overwhelm her eyes. "I can't do that."

"Can't lie or can't end it."

"I can't lie to him."

"You lied to him for months."

"Under orders! I lied to him to keep him safe."

"Will having a child keep him safe?"

"No."

"No, it'll risk you, him and your entire team. Are you willing to do that?"

She starts to rub her eyes on her sleeve but her mother clucks her tongue.

"Tissues in the glovebox."

Melinda digs them out and dries her eyes. She's still crying. "I want to."

"What?"

"I want to risk it. I want-" she stumbles over the words, "I want this. I know how much it's going to take, but I want it. It's so stupid of me."

"Not stupid."

"I'm not in any position to have a child."

"What position should one be in? Married, with a house and a comfortable job where you never get shot at? Certainly not raising a child alone, working in intelligence and hiding weapons in the bottom of your desk drawers."

"You were, and are, an incredible mother."

Her mother nods, which is how she accepts a compliment. "It's not easy."

"I don't need it to be easy."

"Good, Qiaolian, because it won't be." She reaches over and strokes her daughter's knee. "Even when you think you've been through everything and your baby is happy doing something she loves, some Tuesday she calls and tells you she's pregnant and suddenly all you can think about is what you can do to help, because she sounds like she's going to cry. All these years and I still don't know what to do when you cry. It was so much easier when I just had to pick you up and make you laugh."

Melinda uses up the rest of the tissues before they even turn into her mother's driveway.


	5. Chapter 5

"You know, AC, I could get used to this. Unlimited cinnamon rolls, good coffee, a dishwasher--" Skye sighs happily then licks icing from her fingers. "Have you tried these?"

He shakes his head. He's had the same folder in front of him all of breakfast and he hasn't opened it. Bad sign. It can't just be missing May because that wouldn't make him look so gloomy. He looks a little happy when he talks about her.

Skye still can't quite wrap her head around them having a kid. It's weird enough having friends that are close enough to be family. When those friends are adding to the family, it's a little stranger. 

"Earth to AC, we have cinnamon buns and you're really missing out."

He looks up and manages one of his weaker smiles. He's trying, he's just... something. Jemma has disappeared back into her lab, and Trip's gone to test out some new Stark Industries weapons in the shooting range in the sub-basement and it's just them. 

AC doesn't reach for the rolls, but he does finally move his spoon in his cold oatmeal. 

"You can get new stuff."

He stares at the gloop at the end of his spoon. "It's fine."

"It's cold. It's the consistency of cement. You're not really going to eat it, are you?" 

He toys with his spoon again and pushes it away. 

Skye shoves a cinnamon roll into his hand. "Eat. It's delicious."

AC takes a bite but he has the face of someone who's forgotten how to chew. The folder's plain, grey, entirely ordinary without any fancy S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia or Stark Industries logo. She maybe shouldn't be paying so much attention to it, but it must be important.

"I need you to research something for me," he says. Holding the sticky mess of the cinnamon roll in his hand, he pushes the folder across with his empty one. 

"What is it?"

"Something I can't stop drawing." He sets the roll down on his plate and wastes the icing on a napkin. "The first photos are from the wall in the Playground. The rest is scans of scrap paper."

She pages through because there are reams of the same scribbled lines and ovals, in the same pattern. "You've been writing this since-?"

"We arrived at the Playground."

"Months ago," she stares at him. "May knows, doesn't she?"

"It happens mostly at night. It was impossible for her not to know."

"Right," she says. She can feel the sting of blood in her face, because she's still not entirely sure how she feels about them together in the naked sense, but it's getting easier. "And you haven't told anyone else? Hill, Simmons, Trip?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't know what it meant."

"No one knows that this means," she reminds him. "It's the same stuff Garrett scratched onto the Bus when he was having his moment of unique oneness with the universe."

"I'd like to avoid that if I could."

"Yeah, let's definitely sign up to avoiding that." Skye pages through again, turning the drawings, looking for a pattern. "What do you think I can do?"

"What you do," he answers. That smile's almost real. "I should have said something."

"Yeah, you should have." Skye shakes her head. "And May. Both of you know better."

She sounds so much like a parent that he grins, and it's probably because it is kind of ridiculous that she's lecturing them, but they need to be responsible. They are parents, kind of. 

"I don't know what it means, but I think I need to. I can't risk it being a mystery."

"No, we need you at one hundred percent. Do you think this has something to do with the serum? The GH stuff Simmons is studying?"

"I've had it months longer than you. Maybe the dosage was different, perhaps because I was dead and you were still alive." AC shrugs but pain's bright in his eyes. "Hopefully it'll never happen to you, but if it's going to, we need to understand it. We need to know what this is."

She adds 'for the baby' in her head, but she can't really imagine him saying it. It's still weird. "I'll figure it out, " Skye promises. "I'm good at puzzles.'

"I know. That's why I asked for help. "

She can't help smirking. "We ask for help now?"

AC smiles and his eyes are weary. "We do, because we need it. "

"You need to eat," she threatens."I'll call May or her mom if I have to. I hear her mom's terrifying. "

"She is. " 

"So eat, so I don't have to talk to her. I'll run some basic searches on this. See if I can find it anywhere. There's probably something on the internet. There always is. The computers here are pretty exciting and I think I figured out how to piggyback my IP so it looks like I'm from the UN, which is a pretty damn good security clearance."

"I'm going to drink my coffee and pretend you didn't just admit to doing something illegal."

"See, you've got Dad down already. Smile, nod, open your wallet." Skye studies him, wishing she'd had someone like him when she was young. " I hear that's what they're like anyway."

"Maybe." He says. His coffee and orange juice must both equally lukewarm but he drinks. 

"I miss her, too, you know. I woke up at five and had to do tai chi with only Jemma and she's not that good and I'm a lousy teacher. It just wasn't the same."

He actually perks up enough to seem to taste his breakfast. "She'll be back."

"Good, because I don't want to forget anything." Skye pats his shoulder because even his suit's a little rumpled and there's something so sad about that. He's always so together. "I'm going to go try and solve your puzzle, okay? Remember to eat lunch."

"I'm not that bad."

"You could call her. You know - pick up phone, dial, speak."

He shakes his head. "She needs time."

Skye's fairly certain that the time May wants isn't time away from him, but he's not going to believe her. Maybe he needs some time, too. 

"Eat, okay? Drink water, not just coffee."

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do it as well as May does. Skye didn't think she'd miss her as much as she does. Maybe she's gotten to used to having someone to talk to while she works, or tai chi in the morning before breakfast. They have a good thing going. It's routine and feels like family.

* * *

"There's nothing to be nervous about," her mother says. "I don't know why going to the doctor always makes you so jumpy. Even when you were small."

"I'm not jumpy, Mama."

"You're sitting as if someone's going to pull a gun."

Something moves in the corner and Melinda jumps to her feet, hands ready and a large cat blinks sleepily at her and stretches.

"Don't mind him," the voice she's been dreading says from behind her. "He'd rather sit on your lap than cause any trouble."

"She's nervous." May's mother says, not helping at all.

"Weren't we all?" Dr. Ogundana asks. Her smile reveals very white teeth and the hand she extends towards Melinda is empty and without threat. "Your own mother threatened her obstetrician with banishment to the furthest corner of Siberia if anything went wrong."

"I had no authority to banish anyone to Siberia," May's mother says, sniffing. "Not then, at least."

"That, I did not know at the time," She waits for Melinda to take her hand. Her palm's warm and dry against Melinda's. "Your mother is a terrible patient."

"Qiaolian was not an easy child to carry."

"You had a very easy pregnancy, and your delivery, no matter what she tells you, was straightforward and less than the average time for a first time mother."

"Straightforward," May's mother scoffs. "On second thought, we should find another doctor."

"I hear there are an abundance of retired doctors in this part of the state who will see you at such short notice."

Melinda looks between them and settles on the doctor's face because she seems less threatening. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. Sit, perhaps you'd stroke Ivan. He'll be grateful."

Hearing his name, the cat rubs against Dr. Ogundana 's feet, then saunters off. Melinda almost misses him, because he seemed the closest to her level. Less intimidating than her mother and her mother's old friend.

Instead of an examination table, Ogundana has her lie down on the kitchen table, on top of an old blanket. Her mother stands by her stomach, watching as the doctor's dark hands pull up May's tight black shirt.

"She only wears black now. I keep saying she'd look good in colour."

"Perhaps that is why she choses black," Ogundana says. "You know how children are, even when they are grown." Looking down at Melinda, she smiles again. "I'm going to unbutton your trousers, just to get a good feel of your uterus. I'll press a little but it won't hurt."

Simmons and her scan seems less intimidating than having Ogundana feel around her belly, but she needs to know everything's okay. She tries not to wince, because it doesn't hurt, yet it's strange to think there's another person beneath the muscles of her stomach. 

"Good muscle definition," Ogundana says, pressing into Melinda's stomach so that she circles part of it with her hands. "You're barely going to show at all until baby's gotten big."

"Show?" Melinda asks, even though it's probably a stupid question. She wishes Phil was here because he'd pay attention, even if he was a wreck, and Skye would smile. 

"Right now your baby's about the size of a kumquat. This big." She holds up her fingers. "It's within your uterus, wrapped in fluid and that's about this big." She widens her hands, just enough to fit a grenade. "Now, your stomach muscles are strong, so it'll be months before they're overwhelmed and baby pushes her way through."

Somehow that sounds like something out of a horror movie and Melinda has to keep herself from wincing again.

Ogundana looks up at May's mother. "Two months I think, only seven left."

"Spring," May's mother says for her. "It'll be snowing."

The air's hot and still around them. Snow feels like a distant memory. She almost wishes for it, because it's hot again, and she can't concentrate. 

"You're right," Ogundana says, feeling Melinda's forehead. "She does have a fever."

"Mama?"

"You do. It could be something."

For the first time in her life, Melinda wonders if her mother's exaggerating. She was also so patient with Melinda's illnesses when she was a child. Nothing phased her. Not chicken pox, or the flu, everything was always fine. Now she complains of being cold, or warm and her mother memorises each instance.

"I'd like to take some blood samples. I can coordinate with your friends at Stark Industries."

"You're in contact with them?"

"Oh yes," Ogundana says. "Being out here doesn't mean we're away from everything. I have a satellite uplink in my office and I can easily reach your doctor in Stark Tower."

"She's not my doctor. She's on my team."

"She told you that you were pregnant?"

Melinda sits up because it's too strange having both of them look down at her. "She did."

"And she looks after you?"

"She's a biochemist."

"Then, with your permission, may I speak to her of your biochemistry? Perhaps together we'll be able to work out what's happening to you." 

Melinda looks at her mother. "That information is--"

"Very classified, I know," her mother answers. "Dr. Ogundana retired with the highest level of clearance in our agency. I can make a formal request and Phillip can deal with the paperwork or he can just approve."

She can't just call Phil and tell her that her mother's old friend who happens to be a doctor needs to be their midwife because she's one of the few people in the world with enough security clearance to talk to Jemma. Will he mind? He's not usually so strict regarding protocol, and no one really retires from her mother's agency. 

"There may be things Simmons can't answer for you," Melinda says carefully. That terrifies her more than it did when it was just Phil in danger. This could hurt the baby. Perhaps the alien process that gave her this child will also take it away. 

"I will do my best, Qiaolian." Ogundana's pronunciation of her name is strange, almost lilting, and she almost expects to be Melinda, yet her mother always calls her Qiaolian and Ogundana knows her through her mother. 

"Now tell me," she continues. "How long have you been feverish?"

Melinda can't answer the question. It comes and goes. She's not even sure she's always aware of it. Jemma said… What did she say? Melinda can't remember. "You should ask Simmons. She'll be more help than I am," Melinda says. She pulls her trousers back into place and tucks in her shirt. Her breasts are barely sore today. Today, other than the nagging heat beneath her skin, she could be normal. 

"We'll take care of you."

Melinda nods and again she wishes Phil were here to absorb the look her mother's giving her. He'd hold her hand and she wonders if his eyes would tear up. His emotions are so much closer than hers. She wants Skye to remind her it's okay; Jemma's smile and enthusiastic reassurance. She misses Trip humming as he walks through the Bus and she lets her mother and Ogundana talk of the old days and plot how her baby will arrive without listening. She has months to make it through yet. She can't plan. 

Yet she can't stop thinking of the space between Ogundana's fingertips and how her baby is already a thing that can be measured, that could be seen. Her mother takes her arm and leads her back to the car. Insects hum in the lazy forest around them and the wind sweeps slowly through the trees. Everything is old, green and empty, with the kind of quiet that absorbs the sound of their feet on the gravel driveway. 

She looks into the trees, watching the leaves. "Who else retired out here?"

"Many of us," her mother says. Opening her door, she waits for Melinda to calm. "We needed each other to talk to. Perhaps when we are very old, we will share the same wing of the home for forgotten elders."

"Mom!"

"You'll be working. You'll be raising my grandchild, you will be busy, Qiaolian."

She reluctantly gets in the car. The trees are still moving slowly and she just wants to lose herself in watching them. "Not too busy for you."

"You live on a plane, where would you put me if not in a home?"

"You won't be forgotten," Melinda insists. She buckles her seatbelt and folds her hands in her lap. They're too close to her stomach and she can't stop looking at the dark leather between her and the tiny, almost-child, beneath. 

"A home for remembered elders? Well now…" Her mother clucks her tongue. "I am lucky. My daughter and the father of her child, who hasn't even asked to marry her, will visit me, with my grandchild."

Melinda rests her face in her hands. "Have you ever thought that I want to ask him?"

"You?"

"What if I did?"

"Do you have a ring?"

"Not yet, no--" the words crash into each other in her mouth and as often happens around her mother, Melinda just stops because what she wants to say will never make it out of her mouth.

"You should get a ring, if you are serious. It's so hard to tell when you are serious. You're always joking."

* * *

Phil answers his phone without even looking at the number. 

"Hello Phillip." Only May's mother and his elementary school teachers have ever called him that. May's mother's voice makes him jump to attention, even though they're separated by hundreds of kilometres. She'll hear slouching so he stands up straighter.

"Secretary May."

"You know I'm retired." 

He does, but his options are her first name or guessing whether she'd prefer Ms. or Mrs., so Secretary is a safe bet. "I do, ma'am."

"Very well." She pauses, probably just to make him more nervous. "I think you should take a few days off and come to Pennsylvania, if you can spare them." Her tone turns it into a command, where there's no room for negotiation. 

"I should?" 

"I need to attend a meeting in London. As you know, my daughter is here, and she'd never want me to say anything, particularly to you, but she's not feeling well."

His heart plummets into his stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, she says. She has a fever and she claims it's fine. It's not high, only thirty-eight, but it was thirty-eight point two this morning, and she's tired. She's seen a doctor, but I'd rather she wasn't alone in my house when I must be so far away."

"Of course." He needs to call Simmons. Is this the same fever? Should they worry? Will Melinda be angry if he shows up? She said she wasn't running away from him but he's not sure. He never trusts himself with her. "I'll leave immediately."

"Good. I shall see you when I return, Phillip."

He only has the dial tone for a moment. Then he calls Simmons in the research lab before he even realises that he touched her number. "Simmons, May has a fever. Did she have one when she left?"

"No," she pauses. He can hear her moving to another station. "Her body temperature was thirty-seven point four when I measured it last. It has fluctuated a great deal. She's had spikes in her body temperature, for weeks. However, the newest vitals I was sent last night show her temperature's higher now than it was." 

He stops in front of the elevator, then takes the stairs up to Pepper's office because he doesn't want to risk losing the connection to Simmons. "What does it mean if she has a fever?"

"Did she mention other symptoms?"

"She's tired." He couldn't refuse Melinda's request to leave, but he wishes, stupidly, that he had. He wants to be with her, especially if she's ill.

"From what I've researched, fatigue's very normal in pregnancy, even early pregnancy. Low grade fevers are also common and usually resolve themselves in a few days."

"If it doesn't?"

"It could be anything from a mild viral infection to a reaction to the GH compound. There's no cause for alarm unless her fever rises to thirty-nine. Technically, thirty-eight point eight, but everyone has a slightly different basal body temperature and I don't know exactly what Agent May's natural variation is. I've constructed a model, but it's not entirely accurate. She could be slightly warmer or cooler than the average and then we'd be worrying for nothing. Or not worrying enough, I suppose, and I'd rather not guess."

He forces himself to take the stairs at a steady pace. Pepper's office is far above him and Maria's is the floor below. "Thank you. I'm going to take a few personal days- you, Skye and Triplett can as well, or you can work here. I'm sure Maria can work something out with Stark Industries."

"Sir?"

"I need to go, Simmons. See you in a few days." He hangs up, then heads for the elevator again. He presses the button, but it just lights up. No elevator appears and he paces back and forth in front of it. It's only a handful more floors but the elevator will be quicker if it ever arrives. Phil stares at his phone. He could call her, ask her if she's okay, but she's tired. May so rarely admits to being tired. What if he wakes her up? What if she doesn't want him there?

What if she does?

The elevator chimes and opens. He runs in, though it saves him absolutely no time to do so and the young man he recognises as one of Pepper's aides just stares at him. 

"Sorry."

The button for Pepper's floor is already pressed so he has to stand there, pretending to be patient when he wants to tear his hair out or leap out of the building. He needs to be there, now. His urgency telegraphs itself to everyone else in the elevator and they let him out first. He half-jogs to Pepper's receptionist. 

"I need to speak to Ms. Potts."

"Ms. Hill is in with her. Just a moment, Director." 

He's only been officially back from the dead a few weeks and already Pepper's staff knows him on sight. She has good people. 

The receptionist nods to him. "You may go in."

He tries not to jog, but he's too fast, too hurried. Maria reads right into him, so does Pepper and he stands there in front of both of them like an idiot.

"I have to go."

"Okay," Pepper says. She doesn't ask him to sit. He likes that about her. "Your team is welcome to stay here until your return. Their accommodation is nearby and if they need anything else, we'll get it for them." 

He keeps looking at his phone, but Melinda's not going to call. She wouldn't ask for him, even if she wanted him. She never asks. "She's sick."

"Sick?" Maria asks. 

"Her mother says she has a fever." He sounds like a teenager trying to find an excuse to visit his girlfriend. 

Maria leans against Pepper's desk, arms folded. "Secretary May called you."

"She's worried about Melinda." He looks at Pepper, whose face is soft with sympathy. "She didn't say worried."

"She wouldn't," Maria says. 

"Go, Phil. Take some time. Look after her, talk. It sounds like her mother's given you a good excuse."

"I don't know if she wants me--" He breaks off because he's going. He can't stop thinking about Melinda, and he has to go. 

"She wants you," Pepper assures him. She shares a look with Maria, who nods. 

Maria pushes off the desk "Come on, Director. I'll fly you out there."

"What?" He stares from one woman to the other. 

"You're not rated to fly your plane. I am. What were you going to do, fly commercially?"

"We don't have to take the Bus."

"Secretary May lives more than an hour from the nearest small airstrip," Maria says. How she knows this is a question for another time. They have always gotten along and she did work as a liaison between agencies for Fury, perhaps she's been to the house before? 

"If we take the Bus," Maria continues, "I can land it nearby. If we take a private jet, we'll need a rental car, and you'll have to drive and we haven't resurrected your license yet." She doesn't mention that he's in no state to drive across the Pennsylvania countryside. She doesn't have to. 

"Thanks."

"Go," Pepper says. "Go make tea and watch old films on the sofa. Be honest, and patient."

"Okay, thanks, again." 

Pepper smiles and stands. She touches his shoulder. "Sometimes you just need to be frightened together in a relationship. There are things you'll struggle to face, and it'll be hard, but it's much easier when you have each other. Even if that other person's Tony."

Maria nods. "Be glad that's not who you're dating. Come on. I can have the wheels up in fifteen."

He thanks Pepper again then follows Maria to the elevator, still clutching his phone. He finally forces himself to put it into his pocket, but he still wants to grab it. Looking at Melinda's name isn't going to help. Thinking of her number over and over won't make her call. 

Maria doesn't say anything. 

"I was harsh when I thought you'd sold us out," he says. If he's going to apologise to Melinda for being such an idiot, he should start now with Maria. "I'm sorry."

"You did what you thought was right. Fury likes that about you." Maria studies his face. "You'll make things right with May."

"I'll try."

"You will," she promises. "You just have to--"

"Be patient," he finishes.

"No," Maria corrects. "Stop being patient. You've tried that. Be blunt. Be impatient. Run up to her and tell her that you were so frightened for her that you stormed into the office of one of the most powerful women in the world and told her you were leaving immediately. Tell her you're bringing in the Avengers to cover your leave. Tell her you can't think about anything but her. Tell her you love her, because you do."

"I did." He stares at his feet before he looks up at her. "I thought I--"

"Tell her again, Phil. Make it stick." 

"Right."

Maria leads to the car, then drives out to the airfield. He's incredibly grateful for her steady presence because he's a wreck. He touches his phone to look through the medical database about fevers in the first trimester, but he's already asked Simmons, and she's probably looking into it right now and there's nothing he can do to make it better. He can't fix this, not this part.

When Maria parks the car, Simmons, Trip and Skye are waiting for them in the hanger. Skye's arms are folded over her chest, her bag at her feet and Simmons carries a medical bag in addition to her own luggage. Trip's is still swung over his back and he seems the most calm. 

"We're coming," Skye says. "We'll let you two do your thing, but we're coming. We can stay on the plane if we have to."

"She'll make you stay in the house." Maria says, walking past them all towards the Bus. 

"Who?" Simmons asks, following along. Skye picks up her bag and waits for Coulson. 

"May's mother."

"The former secretary of--"

"That's her," Maria says. "You'll stay in her house. You'll be on time for every meal and you'll ask her if you need anything."

"Nothing wrong with being on time for dinner," Trip agrees easily. 

"Right," Simmons replies, absorbing that for later. 

Skye shoots her a look that demands to know what Simmons knows about May's mother, but Simmons hushes her. 

"Later."

"Wheels up in five," Maria says, heading for the cockpit. 

Phil stands there in the cargo bay as the door closes behind them and Simmons heads for the biology lab with Trip following her. 

Skye stays with him. "She'll be okay." 

"Yeah."

"And she'll be happy to see you."

He finds it harder to agree with that. "Yeah, okay."

"She will."

"I made a mess of it, Skye."

"So what?" Skye asks, leading him towards his office for takeoff. "Tell her what you want to say again, and again, until she gets it. Go all mushy over the baby, you'd be cute. You are kind of cute--"

He sighs. Being cute is not part of being the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. "So it'll be okay?"

"Yeah. It will. It really will. She loves you."

He stares at her, wondering why it's so easy for Skye to say that. "Yeah."

"Look, you're already like our parents. You can do this together." She sits next to him on the sofa, tossing her bag on the floor. 

Phil didn't even grab his clothes. There are some on the Bus, but he just left everything he'd taken off the plane in his room. Pepper's people will get them. She'll get everything. She does that. He puts his hands in his lap and listens to the engines spin up. He shuts his eyes. 

"Your kid's pretty damn lucky, you know that? May's mom, you're dad. Fitz and Simmons will help her with her homework. Trip'll make sure that the kid has the best, and noisiest toys. I'll cover computers and how to keep you guys from reading the kid's text messages. He- she- this kid of yours- is going to have a great life." 

"Living on a plane, growing up in secret bases where no one can ever visit--"

"Being with her parents. Her really awesome parents who love her so much that they want to be with their kid all they can. Billy will get the kid a lanyard and a security clearance. Jemma and I will babysit so much that you'll have to fight to get the kid back. He'll probably have Pepper Potts as his role model and Maria Hill will teach her to fly a plane before she's ten and he'll be happy, and loved. She'll have Captain America bedsheets and you'll be jealous."

"Oh no, they come in all sizes." He manages to smile and Skye nudges him.

"See, it'll be okay. You've got this." She looks at him, really staring deep into his eyes. "You're gonna be great. I know you'll be."

* * *

She knows she had a conversation with her mother before she was really awake. Melinda just can't remember the details. She overslept. The sun's high over the horizon in her window. Her bedroom doesn't have much of hers in it. It is one of the few rooms in the house without pictures of her on the wall, which makes it hers by default. When she sits up, her head spins so she takes her time getting to her feet.

She passes her childhood in the corridor. Pictures of her in school uniforms, at martial arts competitions, and in front of flowers and trees, watch from picture frames without comment. 

Her mother's note is on the table. She had to go to London. There's plenty of food in the house and keys for the other car. Dr. Ogundana will check on her. She's been left like a teenager home alone for the weekend. It's cold in the kitchen and her mother's bright red sweater hangs on the back of one of the chairs. She pulls it on over her pyjamas, hugging it to her chest. It smells like her mother, which is more comforting than it should be. 

Melinda opens the fridge, stares at the food within and shuts it again. She's not hungry yet. She's not even that awake. Her mind's racing but it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Her eyes ache and as much as she tries to centre herself, it doesn't work. Melinda barely makes it through the first three postures of tai chi before she stops. It's not helping. She can't focus. Maybe she's just tired or perhaps it's a good thing her mother asked the doctor to check on her. 

Something hums. Is the refrigerator making that sound? Does her mother have a security system she doesn't know about? Something continues to whine, then gains in volume. It's a plane. 

Melinda grabs her ICEr from one of the kitchen drawers. Hiding it in the pocket of her mother's sweater, she heads out to the porch. 

It's _her_ plane.

Landing in the grass in the front of her mother's house, the Bus settles there as if that were an entirely normal occurrence.

Shaking her head, she tries to imagine what her mother's going to say when she gets back. Phil knows to fear her mother but the rest of them are innocent. They don't know what they're getting into and Phil can't fly the Bus by himself. 

Watching from the porch, she hugs her mother's sweater to her chest, keeping herself warm. She doesn't know what to think, what she'll say or what's going on. Her mother wouldn't call Phil, would she? Would she ask him to come? Was he worried about her? Did he come on his own? Has something else happened? Did they need her and she wasn't there?

When the cargo ramp starts to lower, she doesn't care why they're here. A few days ago, all she wanted was her mother, but now, watching them walk over the grass, she realises how much she needs all of her family. It aches to see them, and she wants to run to all of them, but she waits. 

Skye waves from the grass, her hair blowing everywhere around her face. Jemma hangs back a little, but she smiles. The engines are still whining, spinning down. Dust and leaves blow all around them. She's so busy watching Skye and Jemma that she almost misses him. Phil outpaces both of them, nearly jogging up to her and he's let his suit get all wrinkled. There are circles under his eyes, dark and worn. He hasn't been sleeping and she wonders if it's them or the drawings that are keeping him awake. 

He smiles, a real smile, one that turns her stomach into mush. Phil skips the bottom step up to the porch and grabs her arm. She touches his face, tracing the lines that his smile makes. 

"You landed on the grass."

"Technically, Maria did, so maybe we'll not be black-bagged and all hidden away somewhere unpleasant because she likes Maria."

"She's not happy with you."

"Is she ever?"

Melinda smiles, holding his chin with her thumb. "She has been."

"And you?"

"I'm so happy you're here." She hugs him, tight, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing. His arms wrap around her lower back and he lifts her off the porch just a little with the force of how tightly he holds her. She kisses his neck, then his jaw, then they're kissing mouth to mouth, knowing how foolish they both are when they try to communicate in other ways. She forgets the audience they have, her mother's bright red sweater and how odd it must be for Jemma and Skye to hold back, waiting about three metres away. 

When her bare feet touch the warm wood of the porch again, she realises how lucky she is to have all of them. 

Phil touches her cheek, then her forehead, trading one intimacy for another. "How are you feeling?"

"Grateful."

"You're warmer than when you left."

As if made bold by the change in conversation, Jemma joins them on the porch, Skye only a step behind. 

"We missed you," Skye says. 

Jemma hovers near the steps, as if she might need to escape at any time. "Is she here? Your mother?"

"She's in London."

Relaxing, Jemma waits half a moment for Phil's hand to move from her forehead before she does the same thing. An ear thermometer appears in Jemma's hand before Melinda can even invite them in. 

Rather than be examined on the porch, she gestures to the door. "Come on in, all of you," Melinda says. Phil's hand doesn't leave her back. 

Skye rubs her shoulder, smiling. "You look nice in red."

"It's my mom's."

They look at each other, and Skye's face, where she's always so honest, brightens into longing and affection and the younger woman hugs her nearly as tight as Phil did. Skye tugs Jemma in, too. Hugging them both, Melinda notes, ridiculously, how much taller they both are when she's barefoot, how they both hold her so enthusiastically, and how Phil's hand rises to the nape of her neck. 

She holds them tight, so grateful they're here.


	6. Chapter 6

May leads them all into the living room of the big, old farmhouse. The wood floor squeaks a little under their feet and they all have to take off their shoes in the entryway. 

Skye's not sure what she expected - something more dangerous maybe? It's a house. The art on the walls is eclectic, a mix of different countries and styles that Skye can't recognise. It's bright, colourful, even cheerful, and no part of the decor says "I'm a super spy that everyone's afraid of". There aren't weapons everywhere. 

The mantel over the fireplace (because of course, it has a real fireplace) is covered with pictures of a little black haired girl with a big smile. Pictures of her with her mother, who looks stern even when she smiles, pictures of her in school uniforms, in pigtails, in ribbons-- Skye turns, following the progression of photographs. 

May's everywhere. Baby pictures when her face was round and full, then later in high school, in Halloween costumes and martial arts uniforms of different colours and styles. Medals hang from some of the frames, trophies line the glass case in the corner. It's been dusted recently and probably has more shining metal in it than the average jewellery store.

Trip whistles, following Hill into the living room. "I thought my parents were bad."

Hill shrugs. "She's an only child. When my parents realised they'd need a case for each kid, we all got a box in the attic and a rotation of which awards got to be out."

"Still, these are some serious trophies. Champion, Grand Champion under eleven, and a whole bunch in Chinese. This one's in Russian--"

"Must have moved around a lot," Skye says. So they had that in common. May moved from house to house as a little girl, but all her things came with them. Her mother has a shrine to her accomplishments and pictures of her are mixed in liberally with the art. How did her mother keep track of all this? Did she store it? Did the frames come later when they had more space? What is it like to have someone who's always so proud of you?

Some of the photos are newer, of May at the academy with a very young AC, a smiling man who might be Garrett, a tall woman with a very serious smile and Fury when he had both eyes. Is that woman Hand? Did they all work together in the past? How young are they? Barely even the same age as Skye? When did May lose that kind of smile? It's so bright and she seems so goofy when she's laughing.

Skye picks up an old photo of AC and May sitting on a different sofa together, laughing. She holds it up, looking from the photo to them now. Phil has his arm around her shoulders, May has her feet curled up beneath her and Jemma is fussing with her arm. Her bright red sweater's half-off so Jemma can take blood more blood samples. Vials sit on the coffee table, waiting for Jemma's attention. The thermometer must not have said what she wanted.

Wondering if May actually looks ill, Skye studies her. She's seen her without makeup before, and Skye supposes her skin's a little flushed. She doesn't look like she's dying, and Jemma does worry more than she should, but Phil looks worried as well.

Hill disappears into the kitchen, because she seems to know her way around the house. A coffee grinder purrs and Skye wonders if she should help. She doesn't know Hill at all, but Jemma's kind of got a monopoly on May and worrying. May nudges AC and he leaves the sofa to help Hill in the kitchen. Do they need anything other than coffee? It's almost lunch time, Skye realises. Do pizzas get delivered out here? Would May rather have something else? Will they be eating Bus food? Can they cook in May's mom's kitchen?

May looks so tiny on the big green sofa, curled up with her sweater (her mom's sweater, how cute is that?) half off. Skye sits down next to her without thinking, taking AC's place. She doesn't put her arm around her because that's a little too much, but she takes May's free hand and holds it, because she missed her. She missed her and she looks afraid. No one should have to be afraid.

May sighs and tries to answer Jemma's questions. Up close, she looks worse, faded somehow, sleepy. Her head ends up on Skye's shoulder while Jemma talks through the research she's been working on with Doctor Banner.

Skye helps May put her sweater back on all the way, and then watches as May curls tighter into herself. Is she always this small? Why did her mother leave her like this? Is she okay?

May's heated fingers hold Skye's, squeezing. Skye's wanted. May's tired, sick, maybe even a little afraid and Skye can help with that. Even the Cavalry needs someone to hold her hand sometimes.

"All right, Skye, your turn, roll up your sleeve."

"Dr. Simmons should be called vampire Simmons," Skye says, sulking.

May smiles at her joke and nods. "She has to be drinking it all. There's no other reason she'd need so much."

"GH affects hormones. Hopefully I don't need to lecture the two of you on why Skye's hormones would be more similar to yours, May. I could just take Coulson's blood, because he doesn't complain but that kind of comparison might not lead to the results we want." Jemma glares at them both, and starts collecting Skye's blood.

She doesn't watch the little vials fill with red. May shuts her eyes for a moment, resting her forehead on Skye's shoulder. AC and Hill emerge from the kitchen with coffee and tea for Jemma and a whole big plate full of cookies because apparently May's mom keeps a well-stocked pantry.

Jemma moves her vials out of the way and the coffee goes in front of Skye. AC passes mugs around. Skye takes the one he means for May, because her eyes are shut again and she might be asleep. AC sits on the other side of her, very gently playing with her hair instead of drinking his coffee.

Hill tells Trip what most of the locations are in the old photos. There are a few she can't identify that AC has to explain. Yes, the serious woman is Hand and Fury had two eyes, once, but it was a long time ago because May looks younger than Skye is now.

"She's not going to be angry that we're here?" Jemma asks, carefully placing the vials of blood into a container for transport out to the Bus and her laboratory.

"Why would she be?" Hill asks. "I'm the one who landed on the croquet pitch."

May opens her eyes and looks at Hill, almost awed. "You did."

"It was that or the driveway and that just throws gravel everywhere." Hill grabs a cookie and dunks part of it into her coffee.

Jemma doesn't seem that convinced. Hill was the commander of S.H.I.E.L.D. what she worries about is far from what Jemma worries about.

"I'm pretty useful in a lab, if you want a hand," Trip says. Jemma nods and accepts his office. She likes working with someone. They take coffee and tea with them. After they leave, Hill sits back in her chair.

"Did you tell her the plan, Phil?"

"Plan?" May asks, looking from one to the other.

"Maria came up with a plan," AC says. He holds his coffee tight, as if it's steadying him. Maybe it is. Skye wonders if she's supposed to be part of this conversation, but no one tells her to leave. She couldn't really without making May shift off her shoulder and there's something really sweet about the way she's protected between her and AC. She forgets that sometimes even May needs to feel safe.

"Pepper and I would like to offer the following," Hill begins. "If you two need to go on leave, I'll take over as interim director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I know the system better than anyone, so that'll be easy. Your team will need a specialist and a pilot, maybe a little extra back-up because it's not your usual team. Romanoff's the obvious choice, and she's been doing a lot of her fieldwork with Rogers and Barton, so we'll bring them in."

The names take a moment to click in Skye's head. Romanoff, Rogers and Barton. Half of the Avengers. Half of the _Avengers_ are going to be living on the Bus, eating the Bus food and helping them rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. Do they cook? Are they going to keep up the rotation in the kitchen? Do they play Scrabble?

May and AC need time to have a baby and Hill wants to replace them with the Avengers.

Trip and Jemma are going to lose it. Hell, she's going to lose it. Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye: all on the Bus. Do they do tai chi? Do they drink after missions? Is Jemma going to have to patch them up after fights? Romanoff is the standard that basically everything is measured by in S.H.I.E.L.D. Does she sleep with her eyes open? Can she lie about anything? Is she funny? 

AC's going to have to put away some of the Captain America stuff in his office. Will he remember? Maybe she should do it. He'll forget and then be embarrassed and then wish he had it autographed. 

May lifts her head and stares at AC.

"If you want to, of course. We didn't want you to think that we couldn't- that we didn't have a plan," he says. May's hand on Skye's turns into a death grip. "You'd do that. All of you?"

"Of course," Hill says. "You'd cover for Romanoff, or me, if we needed you. Fury owes you both. If you want to do this, we'll make it work. If that's a week where you need me to fly the Bus, you've got it. If it's a month or two and I need to babysit the Avengers, at least it's the easier half of them. This has to be your choice, not something you feel like you're forced into. Whatever you need, we'll make it work."

May shakes her head slowly, then she smiles and it's more beautiful than her old photograph smile. Skye hasn't spent much continuous time with people before, not enough to really appreciate them and all their nuances. This is truly special, and she knows May well enough to appreciate how fortunate she is to be able to watch.

"Of course," Hill continues. "if there's an alien invasion or something, we might have to change plans, and Thor might want to join up when he hears that the others are involved. I think Lady Sif spoke very highly of your team, Son of Coul. Think about it." She stands and tilts her head towards the kitchen.

Skye understands the look and gets up. "We'll see about lunch." She's not even sure if that's a plausible lie and part of her desperately wants to know what May and AC are talking about when he turns her head towards his. She can't hear anything, and then they're kissing and she looks away because that's still too weird.

Hill pulls the door shut and seals the two of them in the living room. "Do you cook?"

"A little. I follow directions all right, when they're not in Chinese."

Hill smirks. "I learned, 'no, do it again' in Chinese pretty quickly when I was training."

"With May?"

"With her mother."

Skye crosses her arms over her chest and stands back. "What's the deal with her?"

"May's mother? I guess you didn't get the academy stories, did you?"

"Is this some sort of 'Cavalry' thing?"

"Don't call her that," Hill says, not unkindly. She sounds more tired than annoyed when she says it. "May Jun-Ying was very highly ranked in MI6 and. She did most of her work with organised crime, really terrifying people that you'd never want to be alone with, not even in a brightly lit street. They used to call her the 'Phoenix of Kowloon' because she was reported dead so many times, and never was."

"Reported dead?" Skye asks. "How?"

"They'd think they had a body, but it was never her. She went in alone, undercover, usually without back up and most of the time she wasn't expected to make it out at all. Her intel saved hundreds of lives and stopped some of the nastiest people in the Triad."

"Stopped -" Skye holds up her hands as if they're cuffed together, "or stopped?" then draws a finger across her neck.

Hill shuts the fridge and turns to face her, shrugging. "Depends on the situation."

"So she's Hong Kong's Romanoff?"

Hill's lips move into a smile and Skye can start to see why everyone likes her so much. She's scarily competent and seems to know everything, but she's human, too. "Yeah, you could say that. I don't know how easy it was to have her as a mom, but she was a pretty incredible supervising officer."

"You worked for MI6?"

"We exchange agencies, sometimes. I mean, we did, before we were all terrorists. I learned a lot from her." Hill sighs and shakes her head. "Okay," she returns to studying the fridge. "So, there's six of us. Let's see what we can come up with."

"What rank is 'Secretary' anyway?"

"It's not. Not really. They don't have ranks. S.H.I.E.L.D. has levels, and a handful of ranks. Director, Commander, things like that. MI6 has their own. Secretary's kind of a regional thing. I guess it's like being level nine."

"So she's, like, James Bond's boss?"

That makes Hill actually smile as she pulls what she wants out of the fridge. "If such a person existed, he definitely would have answered to her at some point. She'll say she's retired now."

Skye organises peppers and onions on the counter and tries to guess what lunch is going to be. "And they talk about this at the Academy?"

"The Academies are all homework, gossip and PT. Some branches have more time for gossip than others."

"Which one did you attend?"

Hill pulls a long knife from the wooden block and spins it in the air so the blade flashes, before setting it down on the cutting board. "Communications. We have the best gossip because we can actually keep our stories straight."

* * *

"I wanted Romanoff to look after the team," Melinda says, looking up at him from his lap. "I never thought we'd get her."

"I thought Maria would suggest that we went private. Join Stark Industries and have real contracts."

She shifts her head, getting a better view of his face. "Do you want that?"

"No."

"Even if we have to pull in the Avengers to cover for us?"

"Of course we'd need Romanoff to cover for you. You've seen yourself at work, haven't you?"

She smiles up at him wearily and he runs his fingers over her forehead, then through her hair. She must be more exhausted than she's admitted, because she lay down on his lap once they were alone.

"It's just an option. We'll do whatever you want."

Her hand traces down his chest. "That's not fair to you."

"It's not my choice."

"What if it was?"

His hand hovers over her stomach and he can't imagine what it would be like to surrender so much of his bodily autonomy. To let someone else take over, even if it's for a short period of time. It probably doesn't feel short at all. Maybe it's like an eternity, and it would be easier if it was his body. He's in the field less. She's the tough one.

"I don't know. I don't know if there's any way I could know."

She grabs his hand and lowers it to the familiar muscles of her stomach. "Tell me."

"Melinda--"

"You won't say because you don't want to influence me, right?"

"I shouldn't. I can't. Whatever you want, whatever you need to do, I'm okay with that."

Pushing up off the sofa, she shifts so she's looking into his eyes. "You're not okay."

"I will be." He has to be. He's not going to risk losing her over her choice. He wants her more than anything. He's not sure how he'll cope because he's already attached to what they could have. Yet he loves her enough that it doesn't matter. He'd rather grieve with her for what's not going to be then blame her. 

One of her hands remains over his heart. "No matter what?"

"Yes- no- I never thought I'd be here. I didn't think- I wasn't going to- I thought I knew what my life was going to be."

She kisses his cheek, leaving heat from her lips behind. "I imagine that life wasn't with me, the plane, and our team."

He strokes her hair again, because he can't stop touching it. "You have my back, you always have. It's hard to imagine that I needed much more than that and a good team. I didn't think I would share my life with anyone."

"Not even with Audrey?"

He looks down again and as much as he wants to pull her close, he doesn't. "Audrey deserves a chance to be happy, with someone who wants to be with her enough to say hell with protocol and tell her he's alive."

"And you don't?"

Phil lifts her hand and kisses it. "I want you."

She looks through him, as if reading his thoughts. Her fingers move in his hand, and she straddles his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. Her hands fall to his chest. For a moment, she's absolutely still, just looking into him. "I want to have this baby."

He wasn't ready for that. He wanted this chance to be a parent with her, but he spent so much time trying to let himself down gently, to prepare to be supportive because it's not his choice.

"You do?"

She nods, almost too quickly. "I do."

He kisses her, covering everything else she was going to say. He holds her tight, wrapping his arms around her waist. Digging his hands into her thick red sweater, he continues to kiss her because his heart is racing and he doesn't trust his voice. This is her decision, and she's made it.

Melinda rests her forehead against his, catching her breath when they stop. "I'm glad it was you."

Looking down at her stomach, she smiles as if she sees something he can't yet. "You're the one I'd want to do this with." 

"I don't think I have the best genes," he teases. "My eyesight's not perfect and my hair's been retreating for awhile."

"My eyes are fine," she responds. Melinda kisses the bridge of his nose, then his forehead. "So's my hair."

He loves her hair, and she knows it because he's not exactly subtle. "We're doing this?"

"We are."

His thumb runs down her stomach and she shivers. A few days is too long apart. They can't really justify running upstairs in the middle of the afternoon, but he wants her, naked on the bed, so he can study every centimetre of her skin.

"We're crazy," he whispers. "We're really crazy."

"We have back-up," she reminds him. Gratitude has left tears in her eyes. "Romanoff's going to look after Skye and Simmons in the field."

"And Rogers, and Barton. I wonder if they babysit, too."

"Why wouldn't they?" She slides off his lap and curls up into his side. "It's a difficult mission, and they specialise in difficult. Besides, I've heard Rogers sings."

"He was in a barbershop quartet."

"So he can sing to the baby."

"Captain America singing to our baby--"

She squeezes his knee. "It'll be good."

"Have you heard him sing?"

Melinda chuckles, but she knows it's a serious question. "No. Romanoff says he's great. Last time I saw her, she said they both liked to sing along to musicals."

"So that's what they do on long flights."

"Better than losing to Jemma at scrabble."

"She cheats."

"Having a better vocabulary isn't cheating," she reminds him. "Maybe you should read more."

"I will, in all the free time I'm going to have."

She laughs again, softly, then yawns because she really is exhausted.

He can read to the baby. Babies like that, he's heard. He doesn't have any first hand knowledge of babies. He has nothing against them, or children, he's just never had the chance to spend much time with them. Unruly young agents are as close as he's gotten to parenting. His mind wanders through imagining what it'll be like to come home to a baby asleep in the Playground, and if she'll let the baby sleep in the cockpit on long distance flights. Are babies heavy? They seem to start so small.

What's Fury going to say?

He can't stop the image of a baby grabbing at Fury's sunglasses from filling his mind. He'd hand her off to someone else, Romanoff, maybe Rogers, because both of them are more patient, and he'd get his sunglasses back. He'd complain, then smile because he's family, too. Who knew they had so much?

* * *

Skye bounces into the lab. "Hey."

Lifting her eyes from her microscope, Jemma watches her approach. "What is it?"

"Hill and I made lunch."

Skye likes food, but she wouldn't look that happy if this was just about having lunch, no matter how good it is. She circles behind Jemma, then drops her hands onto the counter next to her.

"Where's Trip?" Skye asks. 

"Getting some more slides from storage."

Glancing around, Skye leans in close once she's sure it's just the two of them. "I think they're keeping the baby," she whispers.

"Oh?" Jemma asks. Then it hits her. "They are?"

"They were talking, alone in the living room, and then they were kissing, which is still weird--"

"Yes, I know--"

"But when AC came into the kitchen to get some tea, he'd been crying, but it was the good crying. He couldn't stop smiling."

Jemma turns from her microscope. "How do you know he wasn't just relieved about something else?"

"He wants the baby. He didn't want May to feel pressured, but he really wants it. I've never seen him that happy," Skye promises. "Seriously. Then Hill went and talked to May, and they hugged."

"Oh that's nice! They hugged. That's really nice." She's smiling as much as Skye now. "So you think?"

"I think it was much more of a 'congratulations, you're going to be amazing parents' hug than a 'you're my friend and I'm here for you' hug."

"Which would have been fine."

"Yeah," Skye agrees. "Yeah, that would have been fine. They're really happy. Like, absurdly happy."

"Really?" Jemma asks. "That's so sweet. I'm glad they're so happy. They deserve to be, don't you think?"

"Yeah, they do." Skye looks wistful, almost sad, and Jemma wonders what it'll be like for her to watch this baby have everything she never had. "It's still weird because they're, like, them and super spies don't usually make time to have kids, but they're happy." She shakes off her thoughts. "Anyway, lunch is ready, so if you two aren't too busy."

"Not too busy for what?" Trip asks, coming in with a box full of slides.

Jemma can't decide whether to try not to smile or to give up on trying to pretend anything because she's too obvious when she does. "We're not too busy for lunch. We can leave the experiment."

"Good." Skye takes her hand and tugs her gently towards the cargo ramp.

"Hungry?" Trip asks her, curious.

"It smelled great. Hill said it's paella, because she can always throw that together. I only did chopping, so I didn't ruin anything." Skye can change the subject so much easier than Jemma can. She seems so much more natural.

Trip seems to notice that something else is going on and Jemma wishes she could tell him. He's a good guy, but it's not her news.

May and Coulson sit on the porch swing, waiting for them. May still has bare feet, and somehow it's fascinating the way her toes swing without touching the porch, when Coulson's touch the wood easily.

"We need to tell you something," Coulson starts. His eyes are red, even a little swollen and Skye's right. He's definitely been crying, yet his face is warm and open when he waves them all over. May takes his hand, squeezing it, and they both look a little nervous. Which they shouldn't be. They're family. She and Skye already love the idea, and Trip's from a big family with nieces and nephews. He's talked about how great they are. He'll be okay with this.

Trip leans on the railing. Jemma wants to hug them both, but she's not really on that level with Coulson and she just starting hugging May, but she still wants to hold them.

May and Coulson look at each other, and he falters. Maybe she was always going to be the one to say it, but he seems to need her to speak.

"I'm pregnant," she says simply. "We're having a baby."

"Oh, thank God!" Trip sags against the railing in surprise. Skye and Jemma stare at him, Coulson and May both look utterly confused. ""You leave suddenly to go to your mother's, then we drop everything to come to you and Simmons is running all sorts of tests and you don't look very well... I thought you were dying."

"No," Coulson says.

"I'm sorry," May adds. "I didn't mean to worry you. We just needed some time."

Skye wraps her arm around Jemma's shoulders and squeezes her tight, before she rushes over to hug them both, Coulson first, who seems to need it, and then May, who holds her for a long time.

Watching them embrace, Trip nods and sighs in relief. "That went way different than I thought it was going, too."

"I couldn't tell you," Jemma replies.

"Hey, I'm just glad she's okay."

Jemma watches Skye congratulate them, beaming because this is one of the most exciting things to happen. "It is entirely okay," Jemma says, smiling shyly at Coulson when he looks at her over Skye's shoulder. "It's a new person, and that's wonderfully serious, and a little terrifying."

"I don't think the old protocols even took the time to mention this scenario."

"No," she agrees. There were basic mentions of parental leave for agents, both field- and office-based, but it was a long section on employee rights that she read in detail but didn't expect to encounter.

May and Coulson come towards them. May touches her arm, and Jemma has to hug her because she's so happy. At first she worries she's squeezing too tightly, but May's strong and her arms wrap Jemma up.

"Congratulations," Jemma whispers. "You'll be great."

Coulson and Trip shake hands. Trip smiling and shaking his head. "Congrats."

"I'm sorry for the secrecy," May says, slowly letting Jemma go. "I- we- had to be sure."

"I guess this changes things," Trip asks, searching both of their faces.

"Hill and I have a contingency plan to cover our parental leave. We'll go over it after lunch, if that's all right."

"Sure," Trip says. He pats May's shoulder. "I'm glad you're not leaving the Bus. We'd miss you."

She nods to him, her small smile warm and grateful. Coulson's still smiling and it's a little awkward, probably because they flew an experimental aircraft across the northeastern United States so the director and second-in-command of S.H.I.E.L.D. could work out their personal lives. Which is unorthodox, but it was necessary. Trip understands that. Things are different now. 

Lunch passes in a strange sort of blur. It seems normal, all of them around a big table. It's easier than eating on the Bus and although she's initially nervous because Hill was their commander, she's surprisingly easy to talk to. She's been having a hell of a time talking to the U.S. Congress, who seem worse than the House of Commons on a bad day, and everyone has an opinion on politics, so Jemma just listens as Trip, Coulson, Skye and Hill debate.

May's quiet. Not uninvolved- just, quiet. She seems happy. Coulson's holding her hand under the table and she smiles often at what people say, but she's tired. After lunch, Coulson takes her upstairs.

Jemma just stands in the kitchen, staring at the dishes she's not washing as everyone else moves around her. Pregnancy comes with fatigue. It's probably normal, nothing to worry about, except May always pushes through being tired. This time, it seems that she can't. When Coulson comes back down, he says she's asleep and he looks worried in that way he looks when he's trying not to be worried.

May only sleeps during the day when they have a night mission, or if she's injured. The nagging suspicion that there's something she hasn't figured out yet, something she needs to find, digs at her until she has to go back to the lab.

If Jemma knew what she was looking for, it would be easier to narrow the field, but she can't. There are many subtle differences in Skye and May's blood, and trying to sort through them all will take more time than she has. May has the GH compound and it's still active. Jemma can't even find it in Skye's blood, which might mean that she won't be able to pass it to others, as Coulson did, or it might mean that it's behaved differently in Skye's body because she was never dead, and the T.A.H.I.T.I. project file explains that Coulson's return to life was a true resurrection. He was dead, Skye never was, though she was close, and May wasn't even grievously wounded. Would giving her body something to heal help? Should they break a bone so the misdirected energy that seems to be causing her fever could do something useful? That seems too harsh. She could filter all the GH compound out, but it would require a long period of running her blood through many filters, and potentially risking a transfusion if it went wrong and Jemma can't do that. Not in the first trimester, while there's still a risk of miscarriage, and not later because May's condition seems to be deteriorating.

Can she render the GH inert as it is in Skye? What part of Skye's blood chemistry has stopped it from trying to regenerate her? What's she missing?

Maybe if she could watch the GH compound from the point of infection. Perhaps if she traced it and tracked how it developed in the blood of someone else who was healthy when they were exposed, she'd be better able to understand how it works. If she can understand it, she can use it to save Fitz.

His San Antonio doctors aren't optimistic about the condition of his brain. They're more positive about his healing lungs and recovering circulatory system, but his EEG shows very little activity. GH brought back Coulson from death, surely it can be effective against Fitz's brain damage. She can't think of much else that can be. She needs another subject. Someone she can monitor while the GH compound integrates itself into their blood.

Rolling up her sleeve, Jemma grabs a syringe.

* * *

She must have missed dinner. Sunlight filled her window when she fell asleep, and she remembers Phil coming and going, but she's not sure if it's still early evening or closer to the middle of the night. Voices drift up from downstairs, and none of them are hurried. Melinda's not sure why she's awake at first. Her eyes won't stay shut when she closes them. Her head floats as if disconnected. Part of her mind insists this is not being pregnant, this is something else. It reminds her of having a concussion, without the pain.

This sensation must be why Jemma's run so many blood tests, why Trip thought she was dying and she can't fight it. She'll have to trust that they'll figure it out.

The floor creaks. She knows Phil's step and this one is lighter: Skye, perhaps, or Maria. The person hesitates, taking more time with her next few steps. By the time she reaches the bed, Melinda knows it's Jemma.

"I'm awake," she promises.

"Hi," Jemma says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"I should probably be awake some of the time, don't you think?" Rolling to her side, Melinda pats the side of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she answers. Smiling at her helps keep Jemma from retreating, and eventually she sits on the bed.

"I've been running a comparative analysis between your blood and Skye's all day."

So it is later than she thought, Melinda realises. She reaches for Jemma's hand where it sits on top of the quilt. Jemma startles initially and her fingers jump, then they're still.

"In your blood, the GH protein acts as an activator, which is a type of transcription factor that increases--" Jemma stops, suddenly shy. "You don't know what I'm talking about."

Melinda smiles, amused. "I'll listen."

"I'm sorry, I-" she pauses, searching for words, "-it increases the expression of the genes that promote healing. Genes that should be dormant until you need to heal from an injury are being expressed more than they ought to be. It takes a lot of energy to heal, so you're exhausted. I think your fever's part of that. It's getting worse because your body can't regulate it. The transcription factor that should block your cells from trying to heal when they're healthy isn't getting through. I think it plays into the greater mechanism of the GH drug that allows for such spectacular regeneration."

She nods while Jemma fidgets. She looks guilty all of a sudden.

"I found a blocker, in Skye's blood," Jemma continues. "I think it's a mutation. Something her body produced in response to her exposure to GH-325. It's not in Coulson's blood, or yours, and I'm not sure why it works so well in harmony with the activator. I'll keep working on it."

"Of course you will."

"I think I might be able to use it to help Fitz."

Melinda squeezes Jemma's arm just above the wrist, wishing she could help. She looks so afraid when she talks about Fitz.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

Not understanding, Melinda watches her, confused. "You don't have anything to--"

"I found the blocker in Skye's blood days ago. I dismissed it because I wasn't looking for a blocker. I had all my energy focused on finding the activator, increasing the rate of healing, because Fitz needs that, not a blocker. It's been in my notes all this time and I didn't--"

Now she understands. Melinda pats her hand. "It's all right."

"It's not. I nearly missed its importance completely. If I hadn't been talking it through with Dr. Banner, I would have forgotten entirely and I'm so sorry."

"Jemma--"

"You've been sick, and I could have stopped it days ago. You wouldn't have had to suffer."

She pulls herself a little further up the pillow so she can see better what Jemma's trying to hide in her eyes. "I'm tired, that's hardly suffering."

"But you and the baby could be, I mean- we don't know know what it could do to you. I have no idea what so much exposure to this will do to a developing foetus and I-- I should have stopped it, faster. I knew the answer. I've had it and I just didn't see." She reaches up, exposing part of Melinda's upper arm. Jemma cleans it with an alcohol wipe that leaves a cold circle of skin behind. Lifting a full syringe, she taps out the bubbles and clears the needle.

"This is enough of the blocker from Skye's blood to hopefully provide your body with a template for self-regulation of the GH transcriptor. It'll still be part of you, but it won't throw your whole body into overdrive any more."

Before Jemma can inject the pale liquid into her arm, Melinda stops her. "Fitz. Does he need this activator?" "I have other ways to get it," Jemma promises. "I understand it now."

Melinda lets her give the injection, watching as Jemma's guilt starts to fade.

"Your fever should abate soon. Hopefully the other symptoms will follow." She carefully replaces Melinda's sleeve and straightens the quilt and sheet so her arm is covered again. "I'll check on you in the morning."

Jemma touches her forehead, smoothing back her hair before she smiles and stands. "Right, I should let you sleep."

"What are you going to do for Fitz?" Melinda asks. "Can you help bring him back?"

"I'll keep trying," she says, retreating towards the door. "I have to keep trying."

Jemma keeps backing up, knocking into Phil in the doorway and jumps. "Sorry, sorry."

He touches her shoulders, trying to calm her. "It's all right."

"It might be now," Jemma agrees.

"Thank you, Jemma," Melinda says, wishing she could find out what else is bothering her. "Good night."

"I found something to block the process that's making her sick. She should start to recover soon. Her fever should break, and hopefully she'll be more lucid tomorrow. I know today's been rough on her." Her tone softens when she's done explaining things to Phil. "Good night."

"Good night, Simmons."

"Good night, sir."

Phil sits down where Jemma was on the bed and leans down to kiss her forehead. "You're still warm."

"Better than being cold."

Phil smiles. "But you love winter when the snow's up to the porch."

"I do love that."

"You're not going to have to shovel it," he mock complains. Her mother won't need him to shovel. She got a fancy snowblower a few years ago and she enjoys throwing the snow around with the hum of the engine. He'll see. He kisses her cheek, then her mouth, taking stock of her. "How did you sleep?"

"Strange dreams."

"Oh?" "All muddled up," she says. "I don't remember much. I hope everyone's not bored out here."

"They're fine."

"You didn't all have to come."

He takes off his shirt, unbuttoning it down to expose his bare chest. She watches, following the tiny shadows the hairs on his chest leave on his skin.

"We did," Phil reminds her. "I didn't think we all did, but, talking with Skye and Simmons, we did. It's been nice. Maria's been spending some time with Skye and Trip's been Simmons' lab assistant. We found things to do."

"You've been watching me sleep."

He doesn't deny it. Some of the time he pretended to read, but for much if it, he just sat with her, watching. He removes his belt, then slides out of his trousers, folding them neatly. He reaches for an old t-shirt, pulling it on over his head and Melinda stops him..

"Come to bed."

"You're sick," he reminds her.

"Just come to bed, Phil."

He gives in, crawling into the other side of the bed in just his boxers. The summer air hangs thick and warm around them but she's still almost cold. Having him next to her helps. He kisses her cheek and smells of toothpaste. Rolling over to face him, she runs her hand down his chest, resting her palm over his scars.

"I'm not that sick," she insists, almost teasing.

"You're hot."

"You've always thought so."

She kisses him, sighing softly into his mouth when their lips part because she knows how much he likes that. She rubs her leg down his, wanting to be closer, even if moving too quickly still makes her dizzy.

"Melinda-" he says, weakening.

"I want you."

"You can barely sit up," he reminds her.

"Then you'll have to be on top." Her tone's playful but he stops, meeting her eyes.

"Is that all right?"

"I'll get dizzy otherwise," she replies. She'll probably be dizzy anyway, but she's missed him and she wants to feel his breath quicken.

"You don't like--" he reminds her. He's never been on top. She doesn't like that position. It's too enclosed. All she can think of when she's on her back is how to flip him off, how to make a break for the door. He's never questioned it. They're creative together and her thighs are strong.

"I want you," she says. Stroking her way down his stomach, she teases him with her hand. "Make love with me."

He kisses her, giving in. She slips her hand beneath his shorts and yes, he wants her every bit as much as she does. He tugs up her tank top, his fingers gentle on her skin. Lifting her arms, she wriggles out of it with his help. It's much warmer with his skin against hers, and he's still tentative to be on top of her, as if he's concerned about how she'll take it.

She doesn't like to surrender, and ceding control is difficult. Melinda moves his hand to her breast, asking his fingers toy with the sensitive skin. She gasps when his thumb crosses her nipple and his hand slips, because then he's distracted.

Her fingers follow the curve of his hip, then slide down his thigh. Wriggling, she starts to slip off her underwear, guiding his hands so he can finish for her. Taking off his shorts is simple, and after the squirming out of the last of their clothes, his thigh slides between hers and she groans in pleasure. That makes him shiver above her, because the noises she makes have always been his undoing. Phil kisses her, settling between her legs. He's careful with his weight, not putting much of it on her. Lifting her hips, she rubs up against him, teasing while she nibbles his lip.

"You won't break me," she murmurs.

"I know," he replies, far more serious. "You're the most resilient person I know." His mouth drops to her breast and again she sighs. Phil works his way down her stomach, his hand holding her other breast. He stops just below her navel, thoughtful. He sits up, both hands on her stomach, straddling one of her legs. "I love you."

Covering his hands with her own, she smiles up at him. "Come here."

Opening her legs further, she welcomes him in, easing him closer with her legs. His fingers stroke her clit, dip down just enough to tease and return, wet. She jerks upwards, surprising them both because everything's so sensitive and usually she has more control.

"I want you." Her hand reaches for him, teasing him closer. He'd take his time, if she let him. Foreplay's one of his great strengths but she's tired. She can't trust herself with a marathon, so this will have to be a sprint.

"Let me," he asks, kissing her shoulder, then up her neck. He's right above her, watching her face when he enters her. They know each other's bodies, and they slide together, familiar, but there's always that initial gasp when he fills her.

Her fingertips dig into his back, pulling him closer. He sighs and moves almost before she's caught her breath. She tilts her hips back, changing the angle to allow him deeper, and then she surrenders. He takes her hands, bending them back into the bed. She's trapped and one of her first instincts is to twist her legs, to pin him instead, but she won't.

Phil kisses her, reminding her that this is what she chose, what she wants, because she loves him. In all those complicated, messy, vulnerable ways, she loves him. So she trusts him to hold her against the bed, to lead, to control how far he slips within her. It's heady, strange and almost frightening not to be in control. Usually she's the one listening to his breath, feeling out the space between their orgasms, trying to stagger them so hers sends him over the edge.

Tonight, he kisses her neck, then sucks her breast until she moans and shudders beneath him. This time he works her, playing her like an instrument he knows far too intimately. His fingers trace her skin, claiming familiar territory once again. She tugs him down, pulling him closer, wanting the weight of him and their skin pressed together.

His skin has the faintest sheen of sweat, but she's only fevered, and even with the glorious heat of him, part of her is cold. His spine arches above her, and he's deeper and the spiralling darkness in the back of her mind swells, threatening. He knows how close she is, and his fingers drop to her clit, teasing even as he pushes in again, stretching her until the pleasurable ache sings.

Instead of collapsing onto him, she clings to him from beneath, panting and trying to catch her breath as her heart rushes in her ears. He catches her chin, watching her orgasm. His eyes are dark above her, then the whole of her universe. Lying beneath him, spinning undone, she digs her fingers into his shoulders and moans. Her stomach presses flat against his, and he only needs to thrust a few more times before he's spent wet inside of her.

He starts to roll off but she holds him, wanting him close for as long as she can have him. They catch their breath slowly, and she'll have to get up eventually, but she just wants to hold him.

Kissing her nose, he wakes her because she seems to be capable of falling asleep in a moment. Between her fever and the energy she's spent on orgasm, her legs are rubbery, and he gets up with her when she leaves the bed. They stand together, naked in the night air. She holds him close, standing with her head on his chest. Their lovemaking's still wet on her thighs and she has to leave him, but it's only long enough to pee. She really should have gotten dressed before risking the hall, but no one sees her.

He meets her at the doorway of her bedroom, smirking because she has just walked all the way down the hallway naked. Melinda kisses him and gratefully creeps back to bed. He lies on his back and she curls around him, her head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around her waist and she lets herself forget how big a decision she's made and how much change lies ahead of them. For the moment, he's deliciously warm and close.

Her dreams are calm.


	7. Chapter 7

Maria sets everything out before she starts. She knows people who grab ingredients as they go, but she's never done that. She likes to know what she has and that everything is available in the right proportions. It's early, but she knows that Simmons and Skye were up early yesterday, and if May's feeling better, she'll be up soon. Besides, Jun-Ying would never forgive her if people in her house were fed badly. She doesn't mind picking up the responsibility. Everything's better than dealing with Congress and the more disagreeable parts of the US government. She grinds coffee without feeling too bad about the noise. The kitchen is all the way downstairs, and the old walls absorb the sound fairly well. She didn't hear anything from May and Phil, and her room is the closest. She doesn't imagine them being nearly as bad as Pepper and Tony, and she's put up with them.

She counts the eggs, planning on two per person, and they'll need to go shopping. The younger agents will probably come with her. They must know what their team likes. Which set of secret accounts has Phil been using to fund his new S.H.I.E.L.D. She knows which ones she'd use, but Fury always made his own suggestions. While she waits for the coffee, she allows herself a few nostalgic moments of missing fieldwork. Having her own bed is better than all the terrible ones she's shared with Fury, but at least he's less of a blanket hog than Barton, and he doesn't spoon like Romanoff does. Not that she'll ever admit it.

Twisting the knife in her hand, she eyes the onions and the potatoes. It'll take awhile, so it's good that she's up so early. She's gotten spoiled having Pepper to eat with, and Tony's incredible kitchen that he never uses. Better start with the potatoes. They take the most time. Slicing cleanly through them, her knife whispers against the chopping board beneath. It's a pleasant task, and she only needs half her attention. She wonders if Jun-Ying's garden is still mostly lillies, because she's always liked the colours. She'll have to take a walk through after breakfast. Then she'll need to call Pepper to see about the privitisation of the world's security this morning. It might have somewhat questionable ethical grounds, basing what they do out of Pepper's company, but really, how is a multinational corporation any worse than any of the governments she's ever worked with?

Skye leans on the counter and waves as she yawns.

Maria stops cutting potatoes and gestures at the cupboard above the sink. "Mugs are up there. Coffee's about done."

Following Maria's direction, Phil's newest agent takes down a mug for herself and one for Maria. She puts them on the island in the middle of the kitchen, then looks around, trying to remember where the fridge is. It takes a moment, but she finds the cream and sits back down on a stool, watching Maria's knife.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," Skye says, even though she yawns again "What were the lights outside?"

"Lights?" Maria asks. She pours them both coffee and puts the pot back to stay warm. "Tiny ones?"

"In the grass. I could see them through the window."

"Fireflies," Maria answers, adding cream to her coffee. Skye's looking around for sugar and Maria points with her free hand towards the bright little sugar bowl sitting by the toaster.

"They're that bright?"

"When you're out in the middle of nowhere, yeah, they can be."

"Weird," Skye decides, clutching her coffee as she waits for the sugar to dissolve. "I've never seen bugs that light up."

"City kid?"

"Kinda." Skye studies Maria over her coffee. "S.H.I.E.L.D. moved me around a lot, but you knew that, didn't you?"

Maria drops potatoes into a large pot of water and leaves them to boil. "I've read your file."

Skye nods, she must have suspected. "Then why ask?"

"It's more polite than saying that I know where you've lived most of your life."

"Well, here's to politeness then," Skye says, lifting her mug in a sort-of-toast. "Is it weird?"

"Is what?"

"Reading about people before you meet them. Is it weird to have a concept of them and then see what they're like?"

Maria pushes a knife, a chopping board and the tomatoes over to Skye. "Files aren't always right."

"Were you right about Ward?" Skye asks, feeling the spine of her knife with her finger. There's still a wound there.

"I was wrong about Ward. I believed his cover. When Coulson wanted him for the team, I argued against it because of Ward's terrible people skills, when actually he was good at reading people and getting them to do what he wanted. He got both Coulson and I to do what he wanted and made it onto your team." The onion beneath her knife doesn't deserve the punishment she wants to give it, but it is satisfying when it splits open beneath her blade. "But I worked with a lot of people who were Hydra: Sitwell, Garrett, even Pierce. I believed they all were part of S.H.I.E.L.D. and what we were trying to accomplish."

Skye makes quite a mess with tomato seeds, but she dices them well enough. The counter will wipe clean. "And that stings, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"So what do you do?"

"To not get fooled again?"

"Something like that."

"You don't do anything," the voice from the doorway surprises them both and they turn. May stands there, wearing an old t-shirt Maria knows is Phil's. "Few people will ever play you as well as Ward did."

Skye slips off her stool and wipes her slightly tomato-covered hands on her pyjamas. "You're up!"

May smiles at her, almost as if trying to figure out what's going to happen when Skye reaches her. Hugging's not something she's ever been big on, but she doesn't resist. The flush is gone from her face and her eyes are much brighter than yesterday when she seemed so worn.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't have to be, I mean, you don't have to say you are if you're not. I've really only learned about pregnancy from sit-coms and soap operas and both of them make being pregnant sound pretty awful."

May strokes Skye's shoulder. "I'm really fine. I promise. Whatever Simmons came up with, worked. I feel much better than I did."

"So you were sick."

"Yesterday," May reminds her. She fills the kettle for tea like she's always done. "And that was the GH compound, apparently. It had nothing to do with being pregnant." She still pauses on the last word and it's still strange to hear her say it. 

"So you're fine."

"Yes."

Skye's not really letting her off without something. May looks to Maria for help and she shrugs. She's never been pregnant. Never really planned on it, but then neither did May. 

"Okay," Skye says eventually, still unconvinced. "We were worried."

"I know."

"And you and AC?"

"You do know he's the director now," May reminds her.

"DC sounds weird."

"Phil and I are fine. Much more than, in fact." 

Maria smirks across the island and Skye flushes a little. 

"Good," she says. "That's good."

May finishes making her tea and sets the mug down next to Maria's. "Come on, let's get started before you think too much about Phil and I making up." 

Maria corrects it to 'making out' in her head and smirks down at her breakfast preparations. They were always going to be a thing. Fury's going to lord the two of them finally getting together over everyone because he swears he saw it coming first.

* * *

He remembers her leaving to go do tai chi, probably with Skye because it's become a thing that they do together. He drifts off without her next to him, favouring the side of the bed that still smells like her. Phil sleeps through her return, but wakes when she crawls back into bed with him. Her breasts touch his back, cool from the air above the blankets. Melinda's arms wrap around his chest and she snuggles close. He covers her arms with his and falls back asleep because there's nothing he wants more than her and the quiet. 

The smell of frying onions drifts up from the kitchen. Maria will be cooking, because she loves to cook and rarely has the time or a group of people to cook for. Trip and Simmons will be up, because Trip's never late for a meal and Simmons will want to check and make sure Melinda's all right after her injection last night. Melinda no longer feels fevered against his skin. She's warm, but not as warm as she was. That's not a medical assessment, but he sleeps easier knowing she was well enough for tai chi and that she doesn't shiver when the quilt leaves her shoulder uncovered for a moment. 

She's awake, he realises through the haze of sleep. Her fingertips play with the back of his neck, his hair and then run across his shoulders. She doesn't usually fidget. Melinda's often entirely still when she lies next to him but today, she's playing. He drags himself up from the abyss, not quite ready to join her in consciousness. Sleepily catching her hand, he kisses it. 

"How was tai chi?"

"Skye's getting better."

"You thought she would."

"She learns quickly," Melinda replies. "Even though she doesn't think she has it."

"Perfectionist," he reminds her. "You should recognise that."

Melinda nibbles the back of his neck. "Why should I?"

Opening his eyes, Phil watches her hand move back towards his mouth and then kisses it again. "How long did it take you to learn tai chi?"

"Years."

"With your mother."

"Sometimes."

She knows that her mother taught perfection to her when she was a child, and in turn, Melinda has always demanded it of herself. Skye's the same, but her standards are internal and they're not tempered by the unconditional love Melinda's always been able to count on from her mother. Skye's been trying to be better for all of her life, but too few people have ever told her how incredible she is. Her Bus family are probably some of the first to routinely recognise how amazing she is and Melinda's opinion matters much more than Skye will ever admit. 

"I tell her she's getting it," Melinda says, reading his thoughts. "You know I do."

He rolls over, wanting to see her face. "I know you take care of her."

"Her life was so empty, Phil."

"I know."

"But it's not our fault," she reminds him, stroking his cheek. She toys with the stubble on his jaw and he'll have to shave when he finally gets up. 

He could stay here all day. Her deep brown eyes are lit with sunlight and the warmth of them swallows him. Phil alternates between profound gratitude and stunning disbelief that this is his life. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to keep her safe," he agrees. "But we took a family from her and we couldn't let her know we were her family until after she was grown."

"She's not all grown up," Melinda says. "You know we never really are."

Is it his own impending fatherhood that makes everything so poignant? Their child might also grow up alone. Horrific things happen in the field. Agents die. Directors disappear. Their child could end up in a foster home, never knowing where they came from. So many things would have to go wrong for that to happen, he reminds himself. Their baby has May's mother, Jemma, Skye and Trip. After them, there's Maria, Natasha and Clint, Pepper, Fury (although Phil's not sure how'd he be with a child, he knows people). Even Rogers wouldn't let a baby be alone, not when he knows what it is to be orphaned. If the first line of this baby's family falls, there will be others. This baby will be loved. 

Melinda's lips press against his, warmly easing him out of his thoughts. "We're Skye's family now, and we tell her when she does well. She's already come so far."

He sees it there, in the softness of her smile. There's so much affection in her heart for their team and that's what this baby will come into. Melinda's heart is the strongest he knows, and their baby grows beneath it. He kisses her this time, depending on his mouth to communicate better with hers that way. She slips in closer, stroking down his chest, and his thoughts sharpen. He loves her. He's never been as careful with his affection as she has, yet he loves her in a way that has dropped the bottom out of his universe. 

Melinda gently pushes him back, slipping her leg across his own. The part of him that would rather fall back asleep quiets because the rest of him has something much better in mind. She must really be feeling better because she kisses him, and her tongue demands his full attention. She sits up, smiling down at him as the quilt falls away.

May's mother clears her throat in the doorway. 

She stands with her arms folded. She doesn't look tired, as Phil would if he'd flown to London and back so quickly. 

He curses, but manages to bite his lip.

Melinda turns to face her, slipping off of him. "You're back early."

"And you're feeling better." He doesn't know May's mother well enough to actually be able to read her, but she seems relieved. 

When Melinda doesn't speak, her mother speaks for her. "Hello, Mom," How was your trip? By the way, I've let my defunct agency land a plane in your garden."

Phil has to protest that. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is rebuilding."

"Oh I do apologise," May's mother says. Her eyes move past Melinda and fix on Phil, like searchlights. "That changes everything, then. Of course, let them land in my garden."

"She didn't let us do anything, Ma'am," Phil insists, trying to take some of the argument away from Melinda. "It just seemed the fastest way to get here."

"Landing a plane in someone's yard usually is." May's mother actually smiles. "Were you worried about her?"

"We were."

He can't decide if he should sit up to face May's mother better, or lift the quilt for Melinda's privacy, but she seems less phased by her mother catching both of them naked, about to have sex, than he is. He didn't think he still could blush all the way up to the roots of his hair, but he can. 

"So you flew out here and bent my flowers."

"Sorry about that," he says, sincerely. The flowers have definitely improved since she's retired and has more time for them. She's always had a cheerful garden, now it's grown to include many more flowers. 

May's mother studies him. "Are you, Phillip?"

"I genuinely like your peonies."

She nods, studying them both. "Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. Don't be late." The door creaks shut and her footsteps are too soft for them to hear her leave, if she does. She could be standing out there, waiting to see if they immediately get dressed or return to what they were doing. 

Melinda drops her forehead to his chest, sighing heavily. She takes a breath, then lifts her eyes to look at him. "That could have been worse."

"It could have been five minutes from now," he says, trying desperately not to imagine what that would have been like. Perhaps his technique would also not be up to her standards and she'd critique that as well. 

"She likes you."

He rubs her arms and shakes his head. "No."

Melinda smiles down at him. "If she didn't like you, you would have disappeared by now."

"Because I got you pregnant?" 

"Because you got me pregnant and didn't immediately ask for her permission to marry me. More the last part." 

"She wants me to marry you?"

Kissing her way up his chest towards his neck, Melinda nods. "She's traditional."

He's not sure how to read into that. Is it something she wants as well? He hasn't thought about what he wants, but Melinda was married, once, and she was happy. 

Could he make her happy like that? Does he want their child to grow up with parents who share a name? Does that matter to him? To her? He doesn't have much experience of marriage, other than watching her. She was good at it. Could he be?

Her hand wraps around his penis, tracing down to the base, then teasing it erect with her hand. She's braver than he is. Part of him thinks they should just get dressed and head downstairs, but it's hard to think about anything but her skin against his. They don't have much time. She nibbles along his neck, taunting him. 

"Do we have time?" he asks. 

She chuckles into his ear. "Do you need more than ten minutes?"

Phil grabs her hips, pulling her up to his stomach. "Is that a challenge?" 

"You'll have to deal with my mother if we're late to breakfast." She reaches down, starting to slide him inside. How she can still be so aroused when her mother was just here a moment ago confuses him, but the promise of her is intoxicating, and she knows it. 

"So you want me to hurry?" he asks. He punctuates the question by entering her so slowly that she squirms, trying to speed him up. 

"Yes," she moans into his ear. 

Phil releases her hips, letting her take over the speed, and she rocks forward, taking him deep. She holds them there, catching her breath, tightening her inner muscles around his penis because she knows that makes him gasp. He licks his thumb and drops it down to her clit, drawing his own gasp from her. Unlike last night's intimacy, this morning is playful, even competitive. She's almost rushing, but she's right. He doesn't want to deal with her mother and the very public conversation they'll have to have if they're late. Even trying not to think about her mother is difficult, even when he's deep within the heat of the woman he loves, he's distracted. Melinda comes with her parents and he brings no one. 

He's so grateful that she has her mother and he appreciates the hole both of his parents have left in his life. Phil barely remembers his father's face, but he knows he'd be thrilled to hold his grandchild. His mother was always so intelligent, and she'd know what to do, how to figure out what Melinda wants from him. She'd suggest that he ask, which he might just have to do.

His body pulls his thoughts, refusing to let him dwell on the past because this moment can't be wasted. Melinda rises up, arching her back. He sits up with her, holding her close. Kissing her erases his doubts. She's who he belongs with. All the trappings, marriage, last names, what they're going to call the baby, all of it's just thoughts: paperwork. What matters is her, the life within her and their life, the three of them, circling in concentric orbits, sharing a path. His left hand's over her stomach when she orgasms and her muscles clench beneath his palm. For a moment, he's certain he can feel the smooth, round shape that must be her uterus with their child within. Melinda pants, almost laughing through her orgasm. She pulls him close, looks deep into his eyes and waists for him to finish as well. He's not even sure if he can, his thoughts race in the other direction, but she holds him in the moment, drawing him in to the darkness behind her eyes. 

Release crawls up his spine and hits the back of his head, shocking him out of his reverie. It's bliss, holding her, kissing her while they wrap arms around each other, warm in the morning sun. Melinda's sensed his unrest, and she remains on his lap, stroking lazily down his spine, past his scars. 

"What's is it?"

He starts to tell her it's nothing, but she'll know he's holding back and he wants to change that between them. He doesn't want to hold back with her. It's risky, because he's defenseless, but she belongs with him. 

"I didn't know marriage was something we were thinking about."

"My mother's--" she begins but stops. Melinda stares at his chest, as if looking through his scar. "I liked being married."

He holds her face and nods. She was radiant then. The world held so many possibilities and their whole lives had such promise. They were different. He had no jealousy, knowing she was happy, and what lay between them was friendship, nothing more. He could keep his distance because she had someone else. 

"Enough to want to do it again?"

Melinda's half smile might lead into an answer that surprises him, but she doesn't get the chance to speak.

"You guys," Skye mock-whispers through the door. "You have five minutes before the Phoenix turns you both to ash for being late to breakfast."

"Thanks," Melinda calls through the door. "We'll be right down." She kisses him, lingering in his mouth as if she can explain without speaking what it is that they have together. 

Climbing reluctantly off his lap, Melinda throws on a robe from her closet and grabs some clothing from the dresser. Unlike her Bus clothing, there are a few hints of colour in the shirts he can see. Nothing too bright, but there's a dark green shirt he remembers fondly from the last time she wore it. 

Cleaning himself off with a towel, he drops that onto the floor and realises he probably should shower, but there's no way he has time for that. His clothes aren't in her room because he didn't plan that far ahead. He can put on yesterday's trousers, but he'll have to go commando and he's still a little sensitive for that. Standing there in a towel, he hears the door jiggle and turns to it, expecting Melinda. 

Instead, Trip quickly tosses in Phil's bag of clothes from the Bus. He grins then disappears before he can be thanked. Phil gratefully puts on clean boxers and an old pair of jeans. He rarely ever wears them, and Skye might comment that they're un-director-like, but he's having today off to be with Melinda and celebrate. They're having a baby and he can finally smile ridiculously at the thought. Tugging on a soft, blue t-shirt, Phil realises belatedly that it's the Captain America shirt Skye and Simmons got him as a joke. He told himself he was keeping it because it's comfortable when really, he likes the logo of the captain's shield, and the colours. It's a well-worn shield, something that's defended them for decades. It's a symbol of strength and unity. 

Skye calls it his fanboy shirt, but what's a vacation if not a time to be grateful for all the good in this world, including Rogers. When Melinda returns, she beams at him. She's in dark red, and even though he's grown accustomed to seeing her in black, it's nice to have her in colour. Her hair's pulled back and that adds a little more vulnerability to her face. He kisses her cheek, because she's so beautiful, even (especially) flushed with sex. 

She takes his hand and tugs him towards the door, ready to face her mother.

* * *

Everyone else is sitting around the table when Jemma arrives inside the dining room. Even Coulson and May are down, and May looks better. She smiles at Jemma, and then leaves her seat to hug her. For a moment, she thinks it's not like May, then she realises it is, and she didn't know this part of May, not really. May holds her tight, then releases her, studying her face. 

Jemma's only mildly aware that she didn't sleep and the circles under her eyes must be deep. Skye nudges her when she sits down between her and Trip. Reaching for the coffee instead of the tea, it's only then that she looks across the table and realises who's sitting between Hill and May. She's smaller than Jemma imagined. Somehow she became a great warrior in her thoughts, intimidating the way Hand was. The Phoenix of Kowloon is a small, elderly woman with grey mixed liberally into her black hair. She sits up straight, with perfect posture and Jemma immediately stops slouching. Everyone's sitting up straight, even Skye, who keeps looking back and forth between May and the Phoenix as if she doesn't know what to make of either of them. 

May's mother nods to Hill, and the food starts going around. Jemma takes from each serving dish on autopilot, not paying any real attention to what she's eating. It's something with fried potatoes, eggs and onions. Hill explains it to Trip, who attacks his breakfast with enthusiasm. Jemma picks at hers. It's delicious, and there's garlic and tomato, and it's not like the sweet breakfasts her mostly American team tends to favour. This is different, but Hill's from a different background. So's Trip. They're all such a melded, mixed little bunch. The bacon's crispy, nearly burnt but not quite. Fitz would love it. 

Jemma glances at the tiny needle mark in the crook of her elbow and sighs into her coffee. She'll need another dose, and to monitor the rate the GH transcription factor is moving through her blood. Luckily, she doesn't need to worry about overwhelmed birth control. She should be able to perform most of her tests in a clandestine enough manner. She can always claim she's still studying May and Skye's blood, when it's actually her own. She'll have to test May again after breakfast, but judging by how easily she smiles, the transcription factor must be dormant now. There's no flush in May's face, and her eyes move quickly. She even smiles, more than Jemma's perhaps ever seen her smile. 

Perhaps she should listen to the conversation. Something intense passes between May's mother, the retired regional secretary of the East Asian seaboard, and Coulson, who is potentially as jumpy as Jemma. He should be. Skye doesn't get it, and it must be because she missed the stories at the Academy. May walked into a building and crossed off an enemy force, and it made her quiet and withdrawn. May's mother traded in death and secrets for decades, but there's no regret in her eyes. She controls the room. Jemma suspects she has the effect in all rooms she's ever walked into. 

Jemma keeps picking at her food until she realises everyone else has finished (May's even eaten part of Phil's breakfast) and everyone's sitting and waiting for her to finish. She keeps eating mechanically, because if she can't fit in sleep today, she'll need food. It's still good, even cold, and the whole morning deserves more energy than she has for it. 

Something's happened, and Hill's laughing, May's smiling and even Coulson looks at ease. Jemma downs the rest of her coffee and lifts her mug for more as Trip passes by. He fills it, but his gaze lingers on her. She works too hard. He knows it. Besides, they all still have a few days holiday left. If she needs to sleep all day to make up for last night, she can. Assuming she can sleep. 

She needs mice to test the regeneration of brain tissue and the transcription factor on. Clearly, it was very effective on Coulson, whose brain had been dead for days, but perhaps there's a difference between complete brain death and brain damage. Maybe it's easier to revive dead neurons when the rest of the tissue is also dead. Skye only needed her organs to regenerate, and her intestines to heal - comparatively that's much simpler. 

She can't cause herself brain damage to test it, so she'll need mice, maybe rats. Monkeys have the most compatible brains but she can't test on them, Fitz would never forgive her, and the paperwork's the most complex. Stark Tower will have mice. If she asks Dr. Banner, he could probably start setting up the experiment. She imagines he won't judge. He's used himself at the heart of research before and he doesn't know her as well as her team does. It'll be easier to talk to him about what she's done. 

"More coffee?" 

Jemma starts and looks up from her breakfast. She hasn't finished yet, but everyone else is starting to pick up their plates. She's not sure who asked her about the coffee and she owes them an answer. She sets down her fork. 

"You look like you need more coffee."

Jemma holds out her mug. Someone, the owner of the voice, pours more coffee into it. Jemma's hand falters and she nearly drops the mug. A weathered hand steadies hers and guides the mug down to the table. Blue veins run through parchment skin and Jemma looks up the arm, following the impeccably tailored blouse up to the shoulder and the face waiting for her. 

"You're tired." 

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise for being tired. Did you stay up late doing something unimportant?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am," May's mother says, waving her hand. "Phillip can call me ma'am." 

Coulson's first name is Phillip. Jemma knows that, but she's never called him that. No one calls him Phillip, but it seems retired Secretary May does. 

"Yes, all right."

"Now you don't know what to say."

"I don't, no." 

"Qiaolian calls me Mom."

"She should, she's your daughter." 

"I'm suggesting that you could call me something other than ma'am."

"Secretary?"

"I'm retired."

Jemma nods, fidgeting with the handle of her mug. "Yes."

"Mrs. May might work."

"Okay."

"Maria calls me Jun-Ying," May's mother says. "I like that."

"I still call her Commander Hill."

"She's also retired."

Jemma sighs, but May's mother's face shifts just a little. Then she smiles, which is almost more alarming than her face remaining still. 

"You're trained well at your academy."

"Yes, we are. I mean, I was, but the academy's not really there anymore."

"No, Hydra took that from you." 

"They did." Jemma looks down at her coffee then back up, surprised that May's mother is still sitting there, watching her. 

"And that's hard."

"Good people died."

"They do. So do less good people." 

Jemma looks around the dining room, everyone else has disappeared. There are voices in the kitchen and people must be there. She doesn't know why she's still here, or why May's mother is talking to her in the first place. "I wish it felt like it was more of the latter and less of the former."

"Hydra will fall. S.H.I.E.L.D. will stop them."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is in your kitchen. We're a terrorist organisation bankrolled by a billionaire playboy tycoon who doesn't pay any attention to his finances."

May's mother sips her coffee and nods. "Ms. Potts pays excellent attention to the finances of Stark Industries. Your S.H.I.E.L.D. is a minor expense that will be passed through shell corporations and not be noticed by anyone." 

"We're still terrorists."

"You won't be forever," May's mother reminds her. "But it bothers you."

"What am I going to tell my parents? That I'm working on secret projects that I can't talk about? I'm being paid by a shell corporation and all of this without the support of this government or any government. We're just out here, without a mandate." She drops her hands to the table, wishing she could better control the way words fall from her mouth. "What are we doing?"

"You helped my daughter." 

"Anyone could have found a way to block that transcription factor."

"You found it and you helped her. She's not sick; my grandchild's safe. If you are a terrorist, you're not a very good one." 

Somehow, Jemma smiles at her. This woman has killed. She's stood toe to toe with gangsters, and now she sits across from her and smiles. 

"If you'd rather work for the Secret Intelligence Service, I can make a few calls." 

"I'm sorry?"

May's mother sets down her mug. "If you're sick of being a terrorist, I can find you a job at the SIS, I still have some connections there." 

She can't leave. There's so much she needs to do. There's Fitz, and the escapees from the Fridge, and she has half a dozen research projects that she's been putting off. Then there's the baby, and she wants to see how that goes. 

"I'll stay."

"And be a part of an organisation that doesn't really exist?"

"Yes."

May's mother pats her shoulder. "It's a good choice."

"I hope it is."

"Sometimes that's enough."

Jemma sips her coffee. "I don't know if it is."

"You'll figure it out." 

"Thank you," Jemma says. 

"You helped my daughter and my grandchild. I am, of course, biased, but I think know what is the right thing to do. I like the idea that you will be on that plane with them." She pats Jemma's shoulder again, then leaves her alone with her unfinished food. 

Giving up on her food, Jemma stares at the dark surface of her coffee. It's so much more bitter than tea. It's even worse black and she's been drinking it that way because she's just trying to stay awake. She knows caffeine is only fooling her brain, that she's still tired, but she has so much to do. 

She's turned down a position at the SIS. She'd be back in Britain, closer to her parents and to Fitz when he inevitably gets transferred closer to his mother. She'd have rules to follow again and a hierarchy to report to, but she chose this. The way she chose coffee over tea. One is undeniably better, but right now, she needs the other. Downing the rest of her coffee and grimacing, Jemma carries her plate to the kitchen and leaves it by the sink with the others. 

Returning to her lab on the Bus, she studies the time. It's been over twelve hours since her first injection. If she takes another now, she can continue on a twice daily schedule until she has meaningful results. Based on how long it took May to be affected enough to conceive, it shouldn't take more than a week or two before she has symptoms that she can track. This can help Fitz. It has to because she's run out of all other options. Her hands tremble a little from the caffeine as Jemma fills another syringe and goes back to work.

* * *

Leaning down in front of the bright pink and white peonies, Phil rearranges the disturbed stems. He moves the heads of the flowers, tossing the broken ones aside so only the sturdy flowers remain. He finally stops when he realises Melinda's watching him from the steps. 

"She's not going to hurt you."

He smiles, and it's that shy one she loves. "I know."

"She'll probably thank you."

Phil stops fussing with the peonies and slowly joins her on the steps. "That's a little awkward." 

"Not as awkward as this morning."

He shudders and drops his head to her shoulder. "That was something else."

Melinda rubs her hand over his neck, then kisses his head. "It's all right." 

"It is now, isn't it?" His hand crawls around her back and they sit there, watching the flowers bob in the sunlight. "You, me, Skye, Simmons, Trip. Everything's all right. Our family's all right."

She can't help staring at her stomach. He catches her looking down and strokes her cheek. She kisses him, because that's the easiest and truest thing she can do. They built this family, this team, and they've held it together. They've struggled so hard to keep their family together through Hydra, and mistrusting each other, yet they've made it. Maybe they can do this. Keep this baby safe and watch him or her grow up. Watch him learn to read, her first steps, and how he'll smile at Phil because he'll make faces at the baby and bounce her up and down. She didn't even know how much she wanted to experience this with him. She didn't think she ever wanted to have a child with anyone, but now she's glad it's him. 

"I should have known I'd have to pay for how well behaved you were as a teenager," her mother's voice carries from behind them. "You always did your homework. Never stayed out late with boys. Now you can't keep your hands off this one."

Phil stiffens next to her and pulls away, but Melinda keeps his hand in hers. 

"Sorry, Mom."

"At least you feel at home," her mother says. Her arms are folded over her chest and she studies them both. "You have no idea what you're getting into, do you?"

"No," Phil says honestly. "Neither of us know much of anything about what we're getting into."

"No one does," her mother fixes her eyes on Melinda. "I didn't and I did not have my mother to help me."

"Mom--"

"I was not perfect, Qiaolian. You will not be perfect. You love each other, I've seen that, and you already love this baby. You have a good team, even if your organisation has fallen, the people around you will protect you. Perhaps if you're lucky, they'll even hold the baby sometimes when she cries. Though, if she's like you, she won't cry very much. You were a good baby."

Melinda nearly drags Phil with her when she hugs her mother. They're not often very demonstrative. Hugging is a cultural artefact of living here, not where her mother grew up, and it's not something even Melinda does easily. Right now, she holds her mother tight, because she loves her. Her mother's guided her through so much of life, kept her safe, taught her to be strong and held her when she's weak. 

Her mother holds her for a moment, then steps back, studying her and nodding her approval. "You will be a good mother, Qiaolian. Perhaps Phillip will be as good a father to your child." 

"He'll be wonderful, Mom." 

"See how she defends you?" Her mother says, looking at Phil. "She has always done that. You accuse her of being Hydra. You tell her to leave--"

"I was wrong," he interrupts. "I was angry and I said things that were cruel."

"You did."

Melinda wants to put herself between them, to make them stop because they both love her, but Phil shakes his head. This is a conversation they need to have before they move forward. 

"That is not a way to be a partner to my daughter. You will be angry with her. Your child will make you angry. You can't be mean."

"I know," he says quickly, too defensively. 

"You can't let him, either, Qiaolian," her mother chides her. "You let him send you away."

"I lied to him."

"You lied to me because you thought my mind would collapse if I knew what happened," Phil answers for her. "You lied to me to keep me safe. You lied to me because you'd just been to my funeral and you couldn't face that again." 

Melinda nods, wishing she could keep her eyes from stinging. Her emotions run so wild on her now. It's harder than ever to hold things back. 

Phil lifts her hand and kisses it. "Hopefully you won't have to, I- I won't leave you, if I can help it."

"I know."

"But this world--" he starts and she nods again, silencing him with her fingers on his lips. This world has gods and monsters, and the monsters look like their friends. 

"I won't keep things from you."

"I know it wasn't your fault, Melinda," he says. "I know Fury asked you to."

"I still--"

"You lied because you love me," Phil reminds her. "I think you have for a very long time."

Her mother rolls her eyes, because this is something she's known for years, but it surprises Melinda how true that feels. She cared about Phil. He's been precious to her, someone she's always tried to protect, to keep close, but even though she knows her own heart so well, loving him wasn't something she admitted. 

She doesn't know whether to nod, or agree in some other way, but she holds his hand tight and looks at her mother. 

"Yes, Qiaolian," her mother says, this time in Mandarin. "You have my blessing. Make him your husband." She looks over them both, touching Melinda's shoulder before she leaves them alone on the porch. 

Phil turns to her. He didn't catch all of the words, and her mother said them quickly, perhaps so he wouldn't hear. 

"She's happy for us," Melinda says in explanation. It's close, not entirely right, because she wants to keep that secret, just for a little while. She's never been on this side of a marriage proposal, and she still doesn't know what she wants to do, or where she'll find a ring, but that's all inconsequential. Her mother trusts Phil to be her husband. Wrapping her arms around Phil, she holds him tight and rests her head on his chest. She loves them both so much it seems her heart floats up into her throat. It's too much. Maybe that's why she has this baby, because her heart is too full. 

He holds her back, kissing her forehead when she lifts her head enough. He doesn't believe her, not entirely, but he trusts her and that's absolute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps two more chapters now? I have a few ends I want to tie up and writing the birth is important to me. Thanks for sticking with me. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back at Potts Tower, and we have Avengers and Jemma has secrets and I caved decided on another chapter. Thanks for your patience everyone. Huge huge thanks to my betas.

They cover most of the flowers before they take off again. Phil's not really sure how it's better to have a blanket on top of them than the blast of air from the Bus taking off vertically, but May's mother gets what she wants. Sun beams down on then as they cover everything up. He's getting kind of accustomed to jeans and shorts and watching Trip and Skye try to learn croquet. They're both terrible at it. Simmons pretty good, even good enough that May's mother finds beating her a challenge, but Simmons has a project and she hasn't come out of the lab much. Skye's worried about her but Jemma hasn't talked about what the project is yet. She's racking up hours of video call time to Avengers Tower, but she hasn't mentioned the project to Skye or Trip.

Phil tries not to worry about her. Work is how she copes, and she has joined Skye and Melinda for tai chi a few times, though she often misses their communal meals and she's taken herself out of their cooking rotation. Maybe some of it's just stress she hadn't dealt with. Fitz was in intensive care, then has been in a coma for months since he stabilised. No change, some brain activity, but his Glasgow Coma score is only seven, and Trip says that's not optimistic. No reasons to give up hope entirely, Fitz has shown some response to pain, and he breathes on his own, but he hasn't been awake since Fury pulled him and Simmons from the ocean. It's not right that someone so brilliant should be silenced, especially when he's so young. They all miss him.

May's mother stands on the porch and waves them off. Maria flies the plane, because she rarely gets the chance to. He half expects Melinda to sit up front with her, but after she waves to her mother from the co-pilot's seat, she comes to sit with him in his office. That surprises him a little, and she sits down next to him, taking his hand as they prepare for take off. They're in this together.

He's sad to see the green of Pennsylvania go. He forgets how much they work, how much time they spend on the Bus, or on the ground in one base or the other. Phil catches himself thinking abut vacation before he remembers that the only time off he's getting is paternity leave, and that's not going to resemble a vacation at all. It'll be easier for him than it will be for Melinda, so he can't think of it too much as work. He tries to imagine her, exhausted, holding a baby who has woken up for the third or fourth time in the middle of the night, but he can't. He's seen her exhausted, seemingly past the brink of human endurance, and she's always surprised him. She grits her teeth when he has to pull bullets from her flesh: childbirth and sleep deprivation can't frighten her.

She curls up next to him for the hour-long flight back to New York. He shyly puts his arm around her shoulders and instead of talking, she cuddles closer. He wonders if there's anything he should be saying. Should he remind her that she'll need to be careful in the field? Should he ask what she thinks is bothering Simmons? Is she sleeping enough? Do any of them ever sleep enough?

Melinda's hand rests on his chest and she taps him when he's worried enough.

"Are you ready to go back into the field? Protocol clears you for non-combat situations for a few months yet, but--" He breaks off because he doesn't want to admit how terrified he is of sending her anywhere near Hydra or the never-ending list of escapees from the Fridge.

"You think protocol should be changed when it's your child?"

"Our child," he corrects her. "It's you. How do I ask you to put yourself in danger?"

Her fingers stroke his chest. "The same way you always have."

"It's different."

"Are you planning on starting a private war?" she asks, sitting up. "We've been spending our time cateloguing and rebuilding. None of us have seen combat for weeks."

"And I'd rather that streak continued."

"I know," she says, squeezing his arm. "Trip will be with me. I'll carry an ICEr."

"I want to be with you."

"You're the director now."

"Fury saw action as the director."

Melinda smiles at him, as if she knows a secret he's missed. "Fury wasn't about to become someone's father."

"It's not the same."

She raises her eyebrows. "Isn't it? If something happens to you, I'll be alone, and this isn't something I want to go through alone."

"Nothing will happen to me--"

"You were kidnapped, beaten by Garrett, had Raina in your brain--"

"You've been beaten, stabbed, shot--"

"Perhaps if I hadn't been handcuffed when I was shot, I could have gotten out of the way." She smirks at him and the memory stings for a moment, but it fades. They have to be able to joke about it so they can move on. She can't joke as easily about the fights, or the Berserker Staff, "You could have gotten us down faster."

"I could have?" he asks, shaking his head. "How about neither of us takes any risks for the next few months- years- decades--"

Melinda rests her forehead against his cheek. "It'll be all right."

"My father--" he doesn't have to finish, because she knows what kind of hole losing his father left. It was her shoulder he cried on when his mother died, and she was there with him when he buried her. She knows how much it hurts to lose a parent. He takes a deep breath, then reminds himself to smile. "Your mother should be enough to make up for the fact that she's the lone grandparent. She can do all of the spoiling."

Wincing, Melinda nods. "She might."

"I thought the beauty of grandkids was that you could sugar them up and hand them back." He can almost see May's mother handing over a squirming toddler, and his eyes sting because the child in his thoughts looks so much like Melinda.

She doesn't say anything reassuring. Between May's mother, Skye, Simmons, Maria, Pepper and the Avengers, their baby's going to have plenty of chances to be spoiled by a billionaire, a demigod who can fly, two assassins who think sleeping hanging from the ceiling is a great way to relax, and the captain, who has always been popular with children. Even Banner has that gentleness of his, and their child will certainly never lack for role models.

"It'll be all right," he promises them.

Melinda nods and curls her arms around his waist. They can do this. They're together and their family's all around them. It'll be fine. Realising just how many people who will love and care for their child makes a knot form in his throat. Phil kisses her hair and utterly fails to get anything done on the flight.

* * *

They end up spending nearly a week in New York. Jemma barely comes out of her lab, and even though Skye can live in front of her laptop, she tries to get out and do the team thing. Trip's happy to go sightseeing with her because he loves getting out to stretch his legs. Pepper's all too-helpful staff offer them restaurant suggestions, theatre tickets, and a driver if they need one, but they take the subway and eat sandwiches and donuts. They leave donuts by the door of Jemma's lab: some for her and some for Dr. Banner because they've been working together, sharing sentences in that scientist way. 

AC's been in Hill's office all afternoon and he's still there when they get back. 

"We're a tiny, half-dead organisation. How complicated can we be?"

Trip shrugs. "We're a decades old organisation run by some of the most secretive, over-prepared people on the planet. There are secret bases we probably don't even know are secret, but we need to find them before what's left of Hydra does."

Skye nods. It's more black cube stuff. The Avengers supercomputer is still working on all the possibilities of AC's patterns. She doesn't have much to go on. They could be biological data, or a map, or words, and that's a ton of data to work through, even for the most expensive computer she's ever been allowed to play with. The supercomputer is still working away, with the data hidden behind all the security she could set up. It'll look like nonsense if anyone finds it, but sshe doesn't want to take risks - in the world they live in, there could be someone out there who knows what it means. That person shouldn't be able to get at this puzzle. Skye has no idea who that might be, but she worries, because there are always secrets underneath what they uncover. 

Trip accompanies her while she goes looking for May. After checking that she's not supervising the work on the Bus, or in one of the offices, Skye and Trip end up randomly searching the tower for her. She hasn't picked up her phone, but that doesn't mean much. Under normal circumstances, the first place Skye would look is the gym, and she almost skips it, because May wouldn't work out with people she doesn't know. She wouldn't risk it now. Trip suggests they check anyway, and they walk through the weights and some weirdly specialised machines, and finally stop in front of the mats. 

They stop and stare, because neither of them is used to seeing people move that fast. At least, people who don't have any superhuman powers, because they can't really call May, or the redhead she's fighting with, ordinary. Skye wonders who it is for half a second, then she realises how widely Trip is smiling. 

"That's Black Widow," he whispers to her. "I have always wanted to see her fight." 

Judging by the sweat marks on the mats by their feet, and the sound of their breathing, they've been at it a while, but show no signs of tiring. Between the two of them, fighting is an intricate dance, a mix of feet and hands that seems to have been painstakingly designed. Both of them wear black, and other than following their hair it's hard to tell which hands are whose. Neither of them hits the mat. They're careful, exchanging blows a few at a time. It's technique, not force, and both of them push faster, harder: until they're a combined blur of skin and cloth. 

They pause, discussing something quickly in what sounds like Russian. They don't seem to have noticed their audience, but Black Widow's smiling and Skye thinks she's directing it at them. May works through a hold on Black Widow, carefully flipping her back to the mat. Black Widow, Romanoff, flips to her feet and they speak again in Russian, working out the hit again. May strikes, sweeping Romanoff's legs and down she goes. Romanoff rolls, coming up with her arms up to protect her torso. 

Skye looks to Trip, who must have realised what they were doing minutes ago. "They're practicing how May can keep the baby safe, aren't they?"

He nods, watching Romanoff hit the mat once again. "I think the protocol allows her to stay in the field until twenty weeks, as long as she's comfortable with it."

Raising her eyebrows, Skye crosses her arms over her chest. "Is that safe?"

"I can't really say. My team was all men for the last few years," he says, then shrugs. "I think it can be. It depends on May, what she's comfortable with. If she's all right, then it shouldn't be a problem. Obviously, she'll carry an ICEr and try to stay out of hand to hand, but sometimes you can't."

Even watching Romanoff knock May down once sends Skye's heart into her throat and she's not entirely sure she can watch May get hit again. 

"So she could be safe?"

Trip nods. "I'm not a doctor, but yeah. She fell right, and Romanoff's hit was exact. Always best to practice with someone who knows what they're doing, so you can figure out what you need to do when you have to face someone who's not trying to keep you safe." 

"But she's--" Skye stops, wincing when May hits the mat and the sound reverberates through the gym. Romanoff helps her up, but Skye stings for her. 

"You do know that the baby's about this big, protected by a nice sac of fluid, and all the muscles in her abdomen, right?" Trip asks, holding up his fingers to demonstrate that the baby's not much bigger than a wireless mouse. "If she feels all right, sparring with someone as skilled as Romanoff, May's pretty safe."

Skye nods, but she really doesn't mean it. She wants them both to stop. "Yeah."

"Life isn't safe," Trip reminds her. "What we've chosen to do makes our lives a little more unsafe than the average."

"I don't know if I could do it," Skye says, almost too softly for it to be part of the conversation. It's hard enough knowing that her team risk their lives for her, adding someone innocent to the situation is more difficult than she expected. May's always protected her and she's grown comfortable with the idea that she's in good hands. She's safe. Skye doesn't think of herself as a protector, but she'd get in front of May now, because of the baby. She'd probably get in front of AC, too, because she wants this baby to have two parents who love her. 

"Guess you won't know until you're there," Trip says. He touches her shoulder, bracing her. "We'll look after them both. You, me and Simmons, until the Avengers turn up."

Shaking her head, Skye uncrosses her arms and smiles. "Sharing a plane with the Avengers. If only I still had instagram."

"It's not so bad not existing on the internet," Trip says. He tilts his head towards a bench and they sit down together to watch May and Romanoff continue to work through variations on manoeuvres. Romanoff has two knives now, and May disarms her, over and over. Sometimes one of the knives ends up pressed against May's throat and Skye almost has to look away, because Romanoff's face is so still. May practices evading blows to the stomach, and she moves as quickly as she always has, but there's something in her expression that suggests it's different now. She's different. 

May and Romanoff stop eventually, grabbing towels and smiling at each other. Romanoff hits May's shoulder and grins before she follows May up to them. Trip and Skye bounce to their feet.

"Trip, Skye, this is Romanoff." May pats sweat from her face with her towel, then wipes her neck. 

Romanoff's just as sweaty and she nods to them. "Coulson's team." She looks them both over, her gaze is a little intimidating, even with May there. Romanoff smirks at Skye. "You picked a rough time to make level one."

"Yeah, kinda I really should have thought more about that."

Romanoff looks at May, then back to Skye, still smiling. She's stunningly beautiful, which almost makes it worse that apparently she's so good at everything. She's kind, too and, considering how many times she was just thrown to the mat in her drills with May, a loyal friend. "Lots of room for promotion at the moment though. I hear there's been a change of command."

"Coulson's still trying to get used to calling himself director."

"How's he going to do with _отец_?"

From May's smile, Skye guesses that's Russian for father. 

"That's also been a little difficult for him, though he knew what he wanted much faster than I did."

Romanoff shrugs, shaking out her hair. "It's not an easy thing. I'd struggle."

"I wouldn't know what to do," Skye agrees. Romanoff looks approvingly at her again and it's easier to meet her eyes. 

"My brother and one of my sisters have kids, and, I might be biased, but my nieces and nephews are the best kids on the planet. So smart and funny; just full of life. Having a kid is a great thing, but you need to be in the right place for it." Trip looks at May, his expression earnest and open. "I'll admit I didn't think the Bus was the place, but I'm coming around." 

May nods to him, gratitude softening her eyes. 

Romanoff lightens the subject. "May says she's been teaching you and Simmons self-defence and basic combat. Once I'm on board, I'll be happy to help."

Skye can't help imagining that being thrown by Black Widow's probably just as awful as May flinging her to the mats. "I can't wait."

Patting her shoulder, May smiles at her again before she and Romanoff head for the showers to change. Skye and Trip wait, looking around the gym at the kinds of mats and all the different weights. Some of them are made of gleaming metal alloys in shades Skye's never seen before and from the carvings, must be Asgardian. She strokes one of the weights and she can't even move it with both hands. There are rows of punching bags, too, all lined up. 

Trip takes a few swings at one and nods. "Nice set up."

"Glad you approve," Romanoff says. 

Standing behind them, she and May have changed back into their civilian clothes. May's shirt is a dark charcoal grey, and she looks as practical as she always does. Romanoff though, dresses a little like a skate punk: old canvas shoes, a faded t-shirt, jeans and a hoody. Nothing about her demeanor says 'I am a super spy'. Her red hair's drying with some wave in it and Skye wonders what it is about S.H.I.E.L.D. that attracts such good-looking people. 

"Did you have a good day?" May asks her and Trip. She drags her fingers through her own wet hair, and it falls straight on her shoulders. She seems so normal, so calm, and Skye wonders if she's hanging on to her fear inside. She must be afraid of what could happen, and it has to be much worse when the baby she has to protect is inside of her, but she appears so calm. 

"The computer's still working so we went out, saw some of the Big Apple." 

"Figured we might as well take it easy while we can," Trip adds, grinning. "Lots to see, plenty to eat."

Romanoff smiles in return as she passes him and heads to another part of the tower. Trip and Skye wait, assuming they're done, but May tilts her head after her, inviting them both along.

"Hope you didn't ruin your dinner." 

They follow Romanoff through a few corridors and up some stairs, all back ways that they never would have found, and end up in a comfortable dining room. It's not a cafeteria, even though it's big enough for twenty or so. It's homey, kind of normal, like their dining room on the Bus. Banner's already sitting down and Jemma's next to him, working on something on a tablet computer that holds so much of her attention that Banner shrugs in apology when she doesn't look up. Hill, Potts and a dark-haired man Skye recognises as Stark after a moment enter from another door. Stark's talking to AC, rambling about something that has AC nodding, but he's totally distracted when he notices them, and May.

Has he always been that adorable when he looks at her? Maybe he didn't see her, not until they were together, because there's something so pure and happy in his eyes when he looks at May. Stark notices and waves off his story to send AC to May. Potts beams at her own other half and wraps her arm around him. Romanoff gently takes Simmons' tablet from her hands and all of them sit. No one else is as awestruck as her. Maybe it's easier for Trip, because he grew up with stories of heroes, and probably knew more than a few of the Howling Commandos and founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. Skye has only learned to enjoy eating with family recently. This has the sort of extended family gathering feel to it she's not sure she's ever had. It's not just her family, the familiarity of the people she sees every day, but other people who protect them, who obviously care about AC, and May. 

Banner reminds Simmons that she has to eat her food when she gets that faraway thinking look and wants to get her tablet from the counter where Romanoff stashed it. Hill makes sure everyone has what they want to eat, and beer, because the fridge in this kitchen is always full. Skye's not entirely sure where the food came from. None of them cooked, and there must be chefs somewhere, making everything that's been waiting for them on the stove. 

There's laughing, and old stories of how hard it was for AC to get Potts to realise he was one of the good guys. How Hill and Romanoff got lost in Uzbekistan and accidentally stumbled onto the oh-eight-four S.H.I.E.L.D. had given up on finding. Banner's seemingly been everywhere in the world, because he always has something to say about a place when Romanoff mentions one. 

Skye drinks her beer, which is some kind she's never had from a brewery that probably belongs to Stark. Eating her dinner, she listens and watches the easy way May and AC interact with all of their extended family. Potts, Forbes magazine's most powerful CEO, makes fun of AC and then defends him from Stark. Skye almost expected Stark to be an ass, but he's not, not really. He's self-centred and narcissistic, but he cares. He keeps an eye on the plates so he knows when to serve the dessert. He seems nearly as distracted as Simmons at moments, but he always has a smile for Potts when she draws him back to the conversation. He keeps looking at May and AC, studying them with a little half-smile, and Skye wonders if he knows about the baby. 

Romanoff does, and Skye assumes Banner must, because he's been working so closely with Simmons. She can't be sure that May and AC are to the point where they're ready to tell everyone, so maybe Stark doesn't yet know, but he suspects something. He's too observant not to notice the little ways they can't keep their hands off of each other. AC has one of his hands nearly permanently beneath the table near May, and she frequently nudges him to get his attention. One of her hands wraps around his shoulder from behind, holding him close against her side. 

Somehow there's even a beer bottle in front of May, and AC must be drinking it, or Romanoff's involved in some slight of hand because it empties along with the others, and if Skye didn't know better, she'd swear May was drinking just like the rest of them. Romanoff must be doing it, and maybe she's just trying to see how long she can keep up the pretense for Stark, who definitely suspects something but hasn't nailed it down yet. Maybe it's habit, burying the weaknesses of others on her team, or perhaps it's just a skill that needs to be practiced, like any other.

Dessert comes and goes. Skye's full and a little tipsy from whatever fancy beer she's been drinking. They move to a sitting area, full of well-chosen cushions, soft sofas and attractive lighting. It has to be nice to have this kind of money. Everything's so easily happy, just for the moment. 

AC winces a little as Stark explains how he threw a wrench at him the moment he walked into his lab. May strokes his shoulder, and that gesture is so normal. They've been in love with each other longer than she's known them, Skye's sure, and it's comforting to think that the two of them together has been coming for so long. It's a lucky kid, to have two parents so in love with each other and dedicated to bringing her, or him, into the world. 

Wondering what her own parents were like, Skye pays little attention to the conversation, but Simmons is worse. She has her tablet back, and she's working in their company, which is probably marginally better than being alone in the lab. She doesn't look up much, if at all. 

Stark has a project he wants to work on, and since Potts is talking away, he says that he's happy to leave her to it and take the time to work in his lab. Potts calls it playing, he insists he's working, and they argue all the way to the door, then they kiss and she probably should politely look away. 

Functioning relationships where neither party is working for Hydra fascinate her. May often reminds her that Ward's betrayal will sting less with time, but since her track record with relationships isn't great, it's hard to believe her. The last two both turned on her. Ward turned on May, too, but she seems to have no problem being in love with AC now. It must get better, someday. 

Everyone else keeps talking, about people Skye hasn't met and events that she remembers only vaguely hearing about when she was searching databases in her van. She takes her hot cocoa and sits down next to Jemma, who almost looks up, but doesn't. 

"Will you be able to explain if I ask what you're doing?" Skye asks, glancing at the tablet. 

Jemma keeps her eyes fixed on what she's doing. "Most likely not without a less than brief lecture on the nature of transcription factors and their effects on the body. Also a lesson on the nature of DNA, RNA and the creation of proteins. It would be easier if you had an advanced degree in biochemistry."

"I think I'm five degrees from Kevin Bacon, considering I was once an extra in a big crowd scene in some terrible alien invasion film," Skye says. "Does that count?" 

Jemma actually looks up. "I don't judge you because you never attended university." 

"I know," Skye promises her. She mostly believes it. It is hard being surrounded by so many people who've done so much. "I'm trying to make you smile."

"I don't understand how Kevin Bacon can confer a degree." 

There are things Jemma missed out on as well, and they apparently include pop culture. 

"It's a thing," Skye explains weakly. "How many degrees removed are you from Kevin Bacon? He's in a film with someone who's in a film with someone else, and then that person's in a film with you. Your Bacon number is three."

"Why is it Kevin Bacon? Why not a more prolific actor like Maggie Smith?"

"Because his last name is a tasty part of breakfast." Skye shrugs. "I don't know. It's not important. What are you working on?" 

Jemma points at her graph and it's a bright green line that means something, so Skye looks at it and nods. "The transcription factor that causes hypergraphia and advanced healing. I've isolated the blocker from your blood, which is what I used to cure May's hyper-regeneration."

"I'm the off switch?"

"In a manner, yes." Jemma changes graphs. "This is May's blood before and after I started treating her with the blocker from your blood."

That's the bright green line that seems to drop off a cliff. There's a blue line next to it that also starts off high but doesn't drop off as drastically. It has started to fall, whatever it is. 

"The blue line is Coulson's blood. The transcription factor in his system has had mostly a neural affect, but it's started to drop off."

"Because you're treating him, too?"

Jemma's face flushes pink. "Quite accidentally, actually. I didn't realise that the treatment would be contagious in the same way the original transcription factor was."

Heat rises in Skye's neck and she gets it. "You treated May and she and AC are still having sex."

"I was going to say that blocker is transmissible through bodily fluids, just like the original transcription factor. It's potentially contained in a virus I should be able to isolate. 

"So AC made May sick, you cured her, now she's curing him?"

Jemma manages to smile and it highlights how dark and deep the circles beneath her eyes are. "Yes. Which means that at least now we know that the blocker can be passed just as effectively as the rengenerative transcription factor, which means you should have nothing to worry about, and I'll treat Coulson as well so they don't risk passing this back and forth in the future, because wouldn't that be awkward."

Knowing she doesn't have some kind of leftover space alien STD is nice. "That's great."

Jemma nods, but she doesn't seem as happy about it as she should be. The whole transcription mess is over. May's fine. It's not going to affect her in the future. Jemma's cured AC's scribbling and that should make all of them sleep better, but Jemma's still working too hard. Something else is bothering her. 

"I'll go synthesise it now before he goes to bed. It'll be nice to put that whole thing behind us." Jemma stands, clutching her tablet to her chest. "Good night, Skye."

She's lying and it hits Skye like a blow to the chest when Jemma walks away. She is potentially the worst liar Skye's ever met and Skye doesn't know enough about the science of transcription factors to have any idea what she's missing, but something's not done. The whole thing is most definitely not behind them. 

Banner's looking at her from the other side of the room. He tries to hide it behind his mug of cocoa, but he knows something. Maybe he knows the whole thing. Interrogating the Hulk is probably a suicide mission, but he's supposed to be a nice guy. He wouldn't help Jemma hide something dangerous. 

Skye sips her slightly cold hot cocoa and the sweetness annoys her now. There's something off. Something wrong, and she can't stand that she's going to have to ruin the adorable way AC's smiling at May or the way she kisses his cheek because they really don't get enough time to be happy. They should get to be happy and cuddle and talk about baby names. 

She downs the rest of her cocoa, gulping the creamy mess on the bottom of her mug. When she's up on the pretense of getting more, she sits down again next to Trip, who has medical training, knows how to keep a secret and isn't going to turn green and smash her. Maybe he can help.

* * *

Phil climbs into bed with her, rubbing his arm where Jemma gave him the shot. Jemma's visit was hurried and apologetic, but Melinda can't help being relieved that the whole thing is over. The blocker should stop Phil's mind from puzzling over things he can't solve. It's already stopped her fever, and the baby's safe. The baby's parents are both safe, for the moment. 

"Did you even have to tell Natasha, or did she guess?" he asks. 

Melinda kisses his arm where Jemma stuck him with the needle. "You know how observant she is."

"She guessed?"

"I hesistated when she offered to spar with me, and apparently I never do that, even when I'm injured. My breasts are noticably bigger and--"

"Are they?" Phil teases, stroking one through her thin pyjama top. 

She rolls her eyes because he's intimately aware that yes, her breasts are bigger than they've been at any other stage of her life. 

"I smelled different."

"You smelled different?" He asks, then chuckles. "She's making fun of us. You can't possibly smell different."

"You're around me too often to notice a change."

"What does being pregnant smell like?" 

Melinda shrugs. "Apples."

"Apples?" Phil leans in and takes a deep sniff of her neck. "I don't know."

She tugs him closer, guiding him down to the bed. "Does it matter if she did know by scent? She's Natasha."

"And she's the only one who could fill in for you," he says, smiling down at her. Phil leans down to kiss her, pressing his lips against hers. He tastes of mint toothpaste and his hand runs down from her breast to rest on her stomach. He kisses her again, then his mouth follows his hand. He tugs up her tank top and kisses the skin just below her navel. "We're seeing you tomorrow," he whispers to the foetus. 

Her eyes sting and it doesn't seem real. "I don't imagine he or she looks like much now." 

"Simmons says we should be able to see the heart, the spine, maybe some fingers and toes."

She strokes his face, smiling up at him even though she's fighting tears and it's almost too much. "Toes," she repeats in a whisper. 

It doesn't make sense that another person, complete with toes, can be inside of her. Even when she was talking about how to protect the baby with Natasha, it seemed so abstract. Fighters like them learn to protect the stomach anyway, because it isn't behind bones. It's not that much more difficult to take that awareness and raise it until the next level. 

Phil kisses her forehead, then just beneath her eye, his mouth warm and gentle against her skin. "It's okay to be worried."

She's not worried, is she? There are hundreds of things that could be wrong, and most of them she doesn't even understand because she hasn't read up on being pregnant. Jemma assembled a detailed manual for her, complete with her own notes, and it has sat next to her unread every night because she can't pick it up. There are too many potential problems. There's blood pressure, breech births and hemorrhaging. How can she add those to getting shot, stabbed or thrown through a glass wall? What if she's already done something that means she can't carry the baby past a certain point? What if they get attached and lose this person who isn't really a person yet?

"Something could be wrong," she says, after silence has held them both for a long time. 

"Or nothing."

"We didn't even want this--" And now she can't imagine not having it. She has to finish in her head because it's still too much to say. 

He rolls to his side, holding her tight against his chest. One of his hands covers her stomach and the baby beneath and she lets that comfort her. He'll keep it safe. 

"It's okay to want it now," Phil reminds her. "Not planning for this doesn't mean we don't deserve to be happy."

Melinda shuts her eyes, trying to keep tears and her nightmares both at bay. "No one gets what they deserve," she replies. 

"Simmons said the baby is fine. You saw another doctor, and she said you were both fine."

She doesn't want to say that things can be fine up until they're not, because she doesn't want to add any power to her fear. It doesn't have to be said. 

Melinda holds his arms tighter to her and sighs. "Yes." 

He'll be next to her the whole time. He can ask the right questions and pay attention when Jemma's talking. Melinda's not sure that she'll even be able to breath and look at their baby at the same time, but she has Phil. He's got this for both of them.

* * *

She hasn't had nightmares about Bahrain in over a year, yet she wakes up gasping in Phil's arms. He doesn't even have to fully wake to soothe her; he mumbles and holds her until she's asleep again. Melinda's jumpy when she gets out of bed, tired at breakfast, and finally she has to ask for company when Phil needs to talk to Maria. 

Natasha's kind enough to keep her distracted while the morning drags on. Jemma wanted to do the scan in the afternoon, which isn't that long to wait, but this day won't pass. They talk about ICErs and how Stark Industries has been working on mass producing them for the US military. Melinda thinks Fitz might be proud to know how many deaths and injuries ICErs might stop in the future. 

Eventually they end up on the roof, which is where Natasha helped stop the alien invasion. It's a victorious place for her and they look out over the city, not talking when they don't have anything to say. Natasha's oneof the most comfortable people she knows. Silence never means anything more than pleasant companionship. Like Phil, Natasha never needs her to talk, and unlike Phil, she doesn't have one sided conversations to fill up the quiet. 

That's where Phil finds her, sitting on the edge of New York's skyline. They've sat in silence, warm in the sun for more than an hour. Natasha nods to him, and leans back, shutting her eyes. They're up high enough for the sounds of the city to be soft and muffled below. It's peaceful, which helps the knot in Melinda's throat ease a little. Phil takes her hand. 

"Thanks," she says to Natasha, because she needed a friend. 

"You'll have to print pictures. Pepper, Maria and Steve would love to see them."

"Steve?" Melinda asks. 

Phil's mouth opens slightly in surprise. "I haven't told him that I'm alive yet."

Natasha stretches out her arms, then rests them under her head. "If you tell him about the baby in the same conversation, he'll forgive you faster for being dead. He still has one of your Captain America cards you know."

Melinda squeezes his hand, because she knows how much he treasured those cards and how they're a reminder of how he died. Maybe he'll want to carry about a picture of the ultrasound. She can imagine him showing it to everyone, as proudly as his cards, but unlike them, he won't have to keep this in mint condition. Her heart's all molten in the elevator down, and she kisses his cheek between floors because she loves all of him, especially the part that idolises Steve Rogers so much. Out of all the heroes Phil could have had, he chose the one who had a good heart when he had nothing. 

He turns to her to kiss her properly, ignoring the fact that anyone could join them in the elevator. It's surprisingly intimate, kissing him while knowing it might need to stop in a moment. Phil keeps his hand on her back as they head for the medical lab. Stark only has the best technology, and Jemma has looked up from her work long enough to mention how detailed his ultrasound is. 

Whatever she's onto is gnawing at her, and none of them have intervened yet. Melinda knows too well what it's like to go without sleeping, to be consumed by something. There's a point when you have to stop, no matter how much you think you need to keep going. She's not sure if Jemma's there yet.

Trip's waiting for them in the lab instead of Jemma, his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, guys. Simmons ended up running assays all night and she's fast asleep now. She was just going to take a nap, but when she went down, she was out like a light. I think she's been burning the candle on three ends lately. I thought I'd offer my ultrasound expertise so you don't have to wait. I'm not a doctor, but I've done several months of a rotation in radiology and I'm fully qualified to perform a prenatal scan. If you'd rather have someone more medical, Banner's just down the hall, and there are plenty of doctors down on level eighteen who probably wouldn't mind taking a break from whatever nonsense Stark has them doing."

Phil glances at her, but she's already nodding. Trip's fine. He smiles a lot, and that's comforting. "We appreciate your offer, thanks." 

She'd rather have someone she knows. It's kind of Trip to offer, and he's obviously been looking after Jemma, which they both appreciate because they haven't had the time for her that perhaps they should have. Melinda's been so distracted, and Phil's been just as bad. 

"If you want to hop up here," Trip says, tapping the exam table. "You'll have to unbutton your pants, just so we can get the transducer low enough on your abdomen. It'll be a little gooey, but it won't stain anything and it'll wipe right off when we're done." 

Pulling herself up on the table, Melinda watches Trip roll the tube of jelly in his hands, warming it up. Phil circles to the side of the bed and she immediately reaches for his hand, because she needs him to be her anchor. Trip hands him some towels that Melinda doesn't understand what to do with, then realises she's supposed to roll up her shirt and open her trousers. The towels are to keep her clothes clean and for her privacy. 

She doesn't like her stomach being exposed. It seems too bare and vulnerable under the bright lights. Phil rests his hand over the baby again and she squeezes his fingers. He's her last line of defense. 

Trip very gently spreads clear jelly across her stomach. It's warm, not uncomfortable, and he grabs the transducer to spread it around. Screens flicker around them as the machine snaps on. For a moment the huge screen on the wall is blank, then an image of a cave fills it. It's a dark cave, a negative space surrounded by the bright grey and white of Melinda's tissues and bones. She's had many ultrasounds to check for internal injuries and broken bones, but she's never watched any of those this intently. 

Something lives in the cave. Whatever it is doesn't take up the whole space, and some darkness surrounds the little creature. Trip keeps moving, narrowing the scan, and then it's undeniably human. Melinda only has enough knowledge of anatomy to patch someone up, and that's all she's ever needed. Even depending on that, she knows a human head when she sees one. This head eyes, a nose and a top and bottom jaw. The spine extends below that and Trip pauses.

"Do you guys want to be surprised?"

Being pregnant has been one surprise after another so her first instinct is no, she doesn't want any more surprises, but Phil answers before she realises what the question is about.

"We do."

"Okay," Trip says, grinning. "I'll make a note of that for you guys so no one accidentally tells you. So, here's the heart, and it's beating away, so that's good. That's the liver here, and those are going to be lungs, eventually. Everything looks good. I'll have to look at a chart to get the dating right, but our little guy here's eight-point-six centimeters long, and I'd guess around forty grams. That's about the size of a lemon, that should be easier to picture."

Phil asks all the questions they should ask. How are the organs? Is the spine straight? Does the brain look normal? 

Trip keeps grinning and answering, getting more positive the more times he reminds them that yes, their baby is just fine. 

"Go back to the face," Melinda says, interupting an explanation of how the baby's organs are developing. 

The picture moves, and it's side on, which is a little strange, but the creature in the dark cave is human. She can even imagine how it'll look like Phil. The nose is similar. 

Phil stops asking sensible questions and strokes her forehead, nodding for Trip to keep the picture still. This is what she was most afraid of, knowing that a whole other person was dependent on her for its survival. This is someone she's already part of. Someone who's going to be a little like her and like Phil, and probably more like Skye than either of them can imagine now, and it's too much. She can't do this. She ends lives, she doesn't start them. She still has nightmares where she remembers the snap of bone in her hands. How can she hold something so fragile with the same hands?

Trip pauses the screen, and leaves them alone. 

No one gets what they deserve. Innocents die. The bodies she left in her wake aren't balanced with this life. There's no meaning in any of it. No method to the universe, and yet, this is an incredible gift. It's Phil, and her, and soon it'll be a little of everyone she loves in a new being. Someone who'll be shaped by everyone who's shaped her.

Someone loved, because that's all she can think about. It's the only emotion she has because it's eclipsed the rest. Phil kisses her, whispering. She sits up and grabs him, holding him tight. Melinda has to look away, but the image of their baby's already burnt into her memory. He keeps watching, murmuring to her how wonderful their child is going to be. 

"I think that's your nose," he says, holding her close even though she's gotten the ultrasound goo all over his shirt. 

"It's yours."

Phil shrugs and kisses her neck. "I'm willing to be wrong in a few months. I'm just saying, right now, that's your nose."

"A few months," she repeats. It'll fly past, and then that nose is going to be out in the world, part of a little face that needs them: a little person they love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week's a hell week for me so I wanted to get this done before I sank into that. Thank you so much for all your support and assistance, dear readers. It's been fantastic writing this and I'm so happy you've enjoyed read it. 
> 
> This was going to be one chapter but it's so long it has to be two. I'll post the end tomorrow or Monday, depending on when I can get it betaed.

There's snow on his window. It shouldn't snow in Cuba, so he's not there anymore. His eyes adjust to the bright light of morning and he doesn't recognise the curtains. Is he in a hotel? The bed's soft beneath him and he's comfortable but that doesn't mean it's not a hotel. He sits up and tries to rub his eyes, but he must still be asleep because his hands are clumsy, almost like they're numb. Weird. He looks around the room and doesn't recognise it at all. The art on the wall is vaguely east Asian: strong colours, clear lines and some kind of lake that he doesn't recognise. There's no alarm clock, no phone, no useless hotel stationary, so it's not a hotel. 

One of the dwarves flies up and dangles a small LCD screen in front of his nose. 

**You're in May's mum's house. You're safe.**

"What?" he asks the dwarf. "I was on the bottom of the ocean."

**The date is 18 March**

"This is a joke," he informs the dwarf. "It's May 13th, maybe the 14th if I've been asleep for awhile."

**Your memory is damaged.**

"That's bollocks, my memory is fine."

**Trust me.**

"Why should I?"

**The code word is manscaping.**

"Jemma?" he calls. Maybe she's in the house. Maybe she can explain why someone's playing this prank on him. "Jemma?"

"She's out on a mission," someone calls up from another part of the house. "They'll be back this afternoon."

"Who're they?"

"Your team," the voice answers. It's male, American, calm, not too deep. Maybe thirty? Thirty-five? 

"Fitz?" That voice is May's. He's sure. "Fitz, put on your dressing gown and wait for Steve at the stairs."

"What're you talking about?" he calls. "Why would I have a bloody dressing gown, it's not my house--" Yet he does. There's a nice blue and grey one hanging on the peg on the wall and it looks about his size. He puts it on over his pajamas and frowns. 

The dwarf hovers in front of him, almost sympathetically. **May will explain.**

Tying the dressing gown on over his pyjamas, he pauses at the head of the stairs. "Why do I have to wait for Steve? Who is Steve? I can walk down stairs."

"Fitz, wait!" May calls, and there's concern in her voice so he stops, because he doesn't like to argue with May. He doesn't see why he has to wait. 

Steve, whomever he is, bounds up the stairs and extends his hand. 

"Morning, I'm Steve."

"Fitz," Leo says. Steve's grip is firm and his hand is much larger than Leo's. He has a square jaw, sandy brown hair, the neck of a weight lifter and the shoulders of a rugby player. He looks familiar, somehow. Leo knows him from somewhere but he can't put his finger on it. 

"I don't see why I need help," Leo argues. 

Steve holds up his hands anyway, putting himself between Leo and the way down. "You're a little clumsy."

"I assure you I'm not," he says. Yet the first step he takes, he nearly falls, and Steve's hands steady him. He hates to admit it, but he needs the help. His feet don't seem to know where they are or what they're doing. He half stumbles down the stairs, and Steve has to grab him more than once. It's embarassing and more than a little frustrating. Why can't he walk? The dwarf, Doc, floats alongside him, his screen still promising that May will explain. 

"In the kitchen," May calls and he follows her voice. He doesn't know where the kitchen is, he follows Steve, who lets him walk on his own now that he's on the flat. It's cool, and the air is dry. Definitely not Cuba, or Scotland. Where are they? Where's Jemma? 

In the kitchen, May sits at a wooden table, her breakfast in front of her. On the stove, something sizzles pleasantly in a frying pan. 

May reaches across the table and points at a chair. "Sit, breakfast is almost done."

"Where are we? Why are we here? Why's it snowing? Where's Jemma?"

"This is my mother's house," May says, gesturing around the room. It's homey, big and American like the farmhouses he's seen in films. Is May's mum American? Why does she live on a farm? "We're here because it's safe, and we needed a safe place to stay while you recover. It's been snowing for the last few days, but it's more intense today. You've met Steve."

Steve sets a plate of eggs, too-crispy American bacon, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes and toast in front of him. 

"No beans? No sausage?"

"You don't like American beans."

"I don't," he agrees, staring up at Steve. Americans never do beans right. "How do you know that?"

"The first time you had them you swore they were the reason the Americans had to be banished westward," Steve says, smiling. He touches May's shoulder, almost protectively, and Leo doesn't understand what's going on. May looks different. Something's odd about her face but he can't figure out what it is. Her hair's longer than he thought it was, and her face is softer. He can't figure out what it is about her or who Steve is, even as he watches him sit down next to May with his own plate.

"Captain America," Leo realises three mouthfuls later. He almost spits up his toast into his napkin. "You're Captain America."

"Only on duty," Steve replies. He shares a smile with May and they both keep eating, as if it's totally normal to have breakfast with an Avenger.

"Why are you- why I am- why are we in your mum's house?" 

May sets down her fork. "Glasgow wasn't safe."

His chest tightens. "My mum's in Glasgow."

"She has protection," she promises. 

"Protection?"

"Security," Steve promises. "Simmons' parents, too. They're safe."

"Jemma's mum and dad? Why do they need to be safe?"

"Raina decided that your mother and Jemma's parents might be useful to her," May says, her voice low and gentle. "We've protected them. They're okay."

He doesn't remember any threats to his mother, or anyone even talking about Raina coming after them. He blew the hatch on the bottom of the ocean, Jemma must have dragged him to the surface and he's here, with Captain America and May, who seem to know everything he doesn't.

"Coffee," May reminds Captain America (who really does kind of look like a guy who should just be a Steve without his uniform). He watches May start to stand, and he can't figure out why she's moving so slowly, but Steve jumps up.

He touches her shoulder again, and it doesn't make any sense. "I've got it. One cup."

She rolls her eyes. "It can't possibly matter if I have two at this point."

"You know what's going to happen." 

Why didn't Steve let her get up? He didn't know Steve and Agent May even knew each other, but they talk like old friends. May sips her coffee and smiles at Steve. Since when does she smile like that? She seems about to say something, then she winces, as if something's hurt her. Her hand drops beneath the table, rubbing her ribs on her left.

"Same spot?"

Lines form on her forehead, then she smiles again. "Same spot. Here." She guides his hand to her side. "There, feel that?"

"Feel what?" What the hell is wrong with her? Is she hurt? "What's going on?" 

"The baby keeps kicking my ribs."

"What baby?" 

May and Steve look at each other. He starts to blush and for a moment, she seems sad and Leo hasn't seen her eyes look so bright. She does smile again, and he's not getting used to that any time soon.

"My baby, I'm pregnant," May says. She pushes her chair back and stands to show him. Using Steve's shoulder for balance, she keeps rubbing her ribs on her right side. No one close to him has had a baby and he's never realised how weird it looks. Beneath her navy vest top, her stomach is very round. He's still not sure what's going on, but she wasn't pregnant, thinking about being pregnant, or dating anyone the last time he saw her. How can she be pregnant now? 

"It's all right," she reassures him, because he can't stop staring. "It's been strange for all of us."

Steve pulls out her chair and she sits back down, smiling gratefully at him. It's his. It must be. Why else would he be here in the house? 

"So it's yours, too?" Leo asks before he's even really sure the words are out of his mouth. "it's your baby, you and May together, I mean." 

Steve's eyebrows fly up and he coughs once before blushing bright red.

May reaches across the table and squeezes Leo's hand. "Coulson," she corrects him. "Together it's our baby, Coulson's and mine."

"Coulson?" Leo doesn't know where to look. May's trying so hard to be nice and patient and Steve's blushing so much that he's laughing and none of it makes any sense. "You and Agent Coulson?"

"Every time," Steve mutters, shaking his head. 

"Phil and I have known each other a long time," May says. "It was a shock, and now it's a gift."

Is that supposed to reassure him? What's he supposed to feel? He know Skye and Ward kind of had a thing for each other and he knew May and Coulson were old friends, but since when do old friends have babies together? Why would May and Coulson even want a baby? Where are they going to put it on the Bus? Are they going to retire? Where is Coulson anyway? May's not just pregnant, but really pregnant and he should be here because you're supposed to be there when your baby's born. 

"That's great, I mean, congratulations to you both. Are you happy- I hope you're happy- having a baby is supposed to make you happy- I'll stop talking now." 

"We're happy," May promises him. 

"You'll be happier when he's back," Steve says, getting up for more toast. "If he's not careful, he'll miss D-Day."

"I have weeks left," May insists. 

"Two weeks tomorrow," Steve corrects. "That means anytime from now until a month from now."

"Which is a big window."

"And he'll never forgive himself if he's not here for the birth of your baby. They're flying in today and we're not letting him leave again." 

"The Bus is coming?" Leo asks, trying not to dwell on the way May and Captain America have obviously had this argument more than once and that it's not enough that she's pregnant, she's near the end, which means she'll go into labour and they'll need to get her to the hospital and they're in the middle of who knows where...

"This afternoon," Steve says. "Natasha wants to get in before the snow gets any worse."

"They don't need to land today if it's not suitable."

"Natasha can land a plane on an aircraft carrier in a hurricane. I think she can handle a blizzard."

How far north are they? Is a blizzard making the wind outside sound like moaning? Doc, Bashful, Sleepy and Dopey bring him a tablet computer and interrupt his thoughts. He stares at the dwarves, momentarily forgetting to be confused by Steve and May and whatever they're arguing about.

"Why are they here?" he asks May when the dwarves hover over the table. 

"You programmed them. They bring you the computer after you wake up."

"Why do they bring me the computer?"

"Read it," May says. She looks sad when she makes the suggestion and Steve rubs her shoulder. Since when can Leo tell what she's feeling? She's always so expressionless, but now, on this day that can't possibly be happening, he can tell that she's sad.

"It makes sense when you read it," Steve promises. "Trust me. I know what it's like to wake up in the wrong place and time."

Time? How can it be the wrong time? How can it be March? Why doesn't he remember programming the dwarves? He lifts the tablet, then sets down his toast. He can't eat while he reads this. It's from him. First him a few months ago, then him a few weeks ago, then yesterday as he kept adding to his notes.

"My memory's not working?"

May shakes her head and her eyes shine wet. She doesn't speak, so Steve does. Why does she look like she's going to cry? May doesn’t cry.

"You haven't been able to form long term memories since you came out of your coma," Steve says, sympathy etched on his face.

His chest aches. Aside from that, May really does seem to be trying not to cry. Weirdest of all, Steve seems to know it's about to happen and hands her his napkin.

"When was that?" Leo asks, scrolling through his notes. "Nevermind. It was five months ago? How can that be? What happened?"

"It's in there," Steve says.

May still doesn't say anything and there are more tears in her eyes. Did something happen to her? Is she hurt? Why is she so sad?

"May?"

"I'm fine," she insists, though her voice catches in her throat. "I'm fine."

"You're worse than yesterday," Steve says. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes her, just like Skye does when she wants to cheer Jemma up.

May nods, but her tears keep sneaking from her eyes anyway. "I know."

Leo can't look away from her, but he has so much to read of his own notes about what happened.

"Phil's on his way," Steve says, as if that should reassure her.

"Is he all right?"

Handing May another napkin, Steve nods. "He's having a tough time adjusting to Hill being in charge of his Bus, but he's settling in."

"Why is Commander Hill on the Bus? I thought she joined the private sector." He can't read and process what Steve is saying at the same time, and he can't stop watching May, either. She doesn't seem to be bothered by the way she's crying, and it doesn't make any bloody sense that she'd be so sad, especially if Coulson's all right.

"Page three has the structural changes to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve says.

Has he read these notes? Did he help write it?

"Read it," Steve says. "After page fourteen it always makes more sense to you."

"Page fourteen?" Leo asks, almost indignant. "How many are there?"

While he reads, Steve and May talk about retrieving some advanced weaponry from the Falklands, and they both seem happy it went well. He stops being able to listen when he realises what he's reading. 

He's had to write his own memories down, to save himself from losing them completely. Some of it's chaotic: apparently his coordination has improved a great deal since Dr. Banner and Jemma started treating him together. He spent months in a coma. Jemma nearly killed herself trying to save him, and she did find a solution, with some variation of the GH drug that saved Skye, but it's imperfect. The drug repaired the physical damage and restored parts of his brain, but his short-term memories keep regenerating instead of transitioning to long term memories.

He scrolls through and on page fourteen he discovers that wrote himself a list of bullet points that he deemed most important.

  * May's mum calls you Leopold. Don't correct her.
  * You're clumsy. Your motor functions are recovering slowly. Be careful. You still feel pain.
  * The Avengers are helping out. Black Widow, Hawkeye and the Hulk are on the Bus. Captain America stays with May because-
  * May and Coulson are having a baby at the end of March. Yeah, it's complicated (see page 18) and they're really happy. (and dating, well, more like married, really.) 
  * Jemma saved you, twice. You owe her, also she's an idiot for putting herself in danger. Coulson was really pissed off. (see page 21)
  * Hydra tried to kidnap you, Jemma and Skye, but the Avengers showed up.
  * If you take a nap, you'll forget parts of the morning. Better not to sleep.
  * Captain America likes it if you just call him Steve. The Hulk is really nice (and shy) and might be spending too much time with Jemma. Black Widow is terrifying, just as you've always thought she'd be. (see page 23)
  * Add anything important to this list and save it before you go to bed. The dwarves will always bring it to you in the morning.
  * May being pregnant makes her really emotional. She smiles a lot. It's nice, but also really bloody weird. She might hug you. Go with it.



* * *

"Simmons?" Phil asks when he enters the lab. She still jumps a little when he says her name because it's been a long few months rebuilding the trust between them. 

"Here, sir." She waves from the end of the holotable. "Just running a few simulations." She taps the holotable and a three-dimensional rendering of a pelvis and the bones of the legs and spine attached to it appear in blue. When the orange skeleton of a much smaller human, head down, joins the rendering, he realises it's May's pelvis, which Jemma's been studying at length. The tiny orange skeleton is their baby, he has to remind himself. Simmons is happy with the baby's development, he (or she) is healthy and all the right bones and organs are accounted for. May's healty, and she handles being pregnant with an sort of grace he doesn't think he could ever have. Even when she thinks she's panicked and starts to apologise, she's no worse than he is. 

Simmons must have her data input set because the images over the table begin to move. The pelvis- Melinda's pelvis he realises- starts to soften to accommodate the baby's head. The ligaments stretch, the bones pull apart and he wonders how much that will hurt. She'll be fine, because she's always fine, but how's he going to watch? The baby's head moulds itself, the bones slipping over each other so it'll fit through, and he watches the whole skeleton of the baby start to turn and corkscrew its way down. His stomach twists, then settles just below his diaphragm, in a hard, cold knot. Simmons' projection continues. Melinda's pelvis slowly allows the baby through, and so many things have to move so intricately that he almost can't watch. When the baby's tiny orange feet are through, the projection stops, Simmons resets it and the fear in his belly settles into nausea. He swallows, twice. 

Unaware his discomfort, Simmons studies the bones of the projection and smiles proudly at him. "Everything looks great, her pelvic outlet is a good shape, her ligaments and muscles are all in great condition. I know I shouldn't be surprised, because she's May, but she shouldn't have any trouble giving birth. Even if the baby increases in weight another five to ten percent before birth."

"Great." He manages to reply, struggling with his throat. 

"Did you read what I gave you? Do you have any questions? I know some of it must have been rather technical, but the standard leaflets for expectant fathers were fairly patronising and you deserved more detail than that." Her face is so kind, and her smile gentle, but his stomach's such a mess that he's almost lightheaded. 

How's he supposed to do this? He's held May's head in his lap while she bled internally, when her ribs were broken, when she's been shot, stabbed, even when he's feared she wouldn't regain consciousness, and somehow this scares him. Her body will make it through because her body is one of the finest on this earth. She's strong, tough, adaptable, and she's always made it through. There will be pain, but she always handles it. Can he? He's good at treating her injuries because he knows he can make her better. He's stitched her up, pulled lead from her flesh, and held compression bandages in place when their extraction felt like they were never going to arrive. He's held her body together with their mixed force of will, but this is different. 

Those were fights; this is surrender. Her body knows how to have the baby, just as it knew to nurture it. When the baby's here, they'll have to learn, because biology will have only gotten them that far. How do they balance a crying baby and hunting Quinn and Raina? Can he hold a baby in one hand and finish paperwork in the other? How's he going to authorise missions that may not succeed, that might end in the death of his agents, when he knows how precious life is? 

"It's all right to be concerned," Simmons reminds him, shaking him out of his thoughts. "It's a frightening thing, and even as I try to be prepared, and you know how I am with preparation, nothing seems like enough. Dr. Banner's assisted with deliveries before, and he says sometimes you barely have to do anything, the baby just comes. Sometimes it's harder, and sometimes it's dangerous, but there's no way of knowing until we get there." She sighs, circles the holotable and touches his shoulder. "That wasn't as comforting as I thought it would be. There's still time, you can talk May into transferring to a military hospital."

He shakes his head. "She's safe there. Her mother's there, Dr. Ogundana's a few miles down the road. Quinn has very little chance of knowing where we are, and May's mother's right: her organisation is still intact, being under their protection will help keep us off Quinn's radar."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is far from ashes, director," Simmons reminds him. Even after months, the title feels foreign and it's almost easier when it rests on Maria. 

"I know, and thanks." He was so hard on her when he found about how she had treated herself with the DH drug, even though she was trying to help Fitz. He has to be more patient and watch his temper. He couldn't treat a child that way. 

"Are you all right?" he asks, turning shy halfway through the question. "I haven't seen the patterns at all for months, have you?" 

Simmons shakes her head. "No. The blocker Dr. Banner and I synthesised appears to be quite successful, which is a bit of luck, isn't it?"

Fitz's memory still can't move on from day to day, he struggles with stairs and standing for a long period of time. Melinda and Steve are both so protective and so kind to him (even though Fitz continually thinks the baby is Steve's, time after time, even when Phil's right there). Phil's glad they're with him, relieved that Fitz is safe, even if it meant risking Jemma, and putting them all in danger, because Raina's not going stop until she finds the answers she wants. The GH drug's in all of them now, so they're all in danger. 

If they could choose, would they bring a baby into this world? Into the mess they're currently in? Is it fair to welcome someone into lives that are full of violence and danger? 

Simmons leaves him to his thoughts and starts another simulation, this time where the baby's born backwards, butt and legs first, with the head, shoulders and arms following behind. He watches, his stomach twisting again, because this could happen, so many things could go wrong. The baby could be upside down, Melinda could haemorrhage, the cord could twist, the baby could fail to breathe and they'll be in the middle of Pennsylvania, half an hour from a military hospital, even with the Bus. 

Stark might be able to do something to get her there faster, but any time where Melinda and the baby are in danger will be an eternity he's just not ready for. It doesn't matter that the little orange skeleton in Simmons' simulation is born healthy, even backwards, when he shuts his eyes, he can hear Melinda's breathing faltering. She won't scream, she never screams, but he could lose her. He could lose them both, and even though he knows nothing of the person their child will be, he loves their baby already. 

Simmons resets the simulation again and he has to go, because he can't watch another potential complication. Knowing the baby could be backwards is bad enough, seeing it again is more than he can handle. 

Maria's in his office, so he can't retreat there. Skye and Clint have the chairs and they're laughing at something, they get along a little too well most of the time, and as fond as he is of both of them, he can't handle their levity. 

He retreats to the cockpit, because that's where his heart wants to be. Melinda's not there, of course, but it reminds him of her just walking through the door. 

"You okay, boss?" Natasha asks from Melinda's seat. She has the same aviator sunglasses that Melinda wears, and other than her deep red hair, he could almost let himself think Melinda's there. 

"Simmons is running simulations."

Natasha tilts her head towards the other seat and waits for him to sit before he continues. 

"She has a three-D model of May's pelvis, and she's running the baby through it. i know it's important, and she got all the data from the last scan we had, and it's just a simulation, it's bones and ligaments. It doesn't even look like May--" 

"But you know it's her."

"Joints shouldn't do that." 

"Try watching a model of a foot going on pointe," Natasha teases him. "The bones in the foot do things they really shouldn't do."

He manages a weary smile, and she returns it from beneath her mirrored sunglasses. 

"You do know it's okay to freak out when you're about to have a child?"

He shrugs. What he's going through isn't important. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're going to spend hours watching the woman you love be in incredible pain and not be able to do anything to stop it. That's difficult." 

Maybe one of the world's best manipulators of others is not the right person to be talking to when he's having trouble admitting things to himself. Natasha is often like a highly skilled therapist who sees right through him. She can turn his thoughts around to almost anything, without him realising it. Usually they're fine, he's an open book about most things, but Melinda's special, and she's right, he can't help her. What's he going to do other than sit with her? 

"It's not about me."

"You love her and the baby, they're both part of you. It's about all of you as a unit. You're becoming, and that's always painful."

Snow and wind whistle around the Bus. It's a sea of white outside their windows and he has no idea how Natasha even knows where they're going, but she never fails. He stares out at the unending snow, letting the white blind him. 

"You're right."

"Has anyone ever told you that sometimes, the people you love don't need you to do anything? They love you, and your presence, your existence in the universe, is all they need from you. It feels ridiculous, because you should do more, but you're there, and that's enough."

He nods, because he understands what she's saying, not that he can do it. It's too much to take into his heart. He's always been able to help Melinda. He reached her after Bahrain, when she was so lost. He helped her find her way back, and they were linked together by that moment of horror. Perhaps this is their salvation. They've taken so many lives, for S.H.I.E.L.D., for their governments, for the world: this is the one life they can add. This is a good they can offer a universe that's given them both as much as it's taken.

"You only have to be yourself. Love her, sit with her, make her laugh when her spine feels like it's being torn from her back." 

He winces, rubbing his chin with his hand. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy, you're good at it. There's a difference." She sits in silence, and he tries to let that thought sink in. He loves Melinda. The idea that he has some special understanding of her almost seems silly. How can he have a deep understanding of her? She's so complicated and sometimes he feels so simple. 

Natasha punches his shoulder. "I think it's good, you finally becoming a dad. Gives all those dad jokes of yours a reason to exist." Her face is still for a long time, but she breaks, smiling because he's shaking his head, it's almost believable that they'll be okay, that they can do this. 

Her radio crackles and she flicks it on speaker so he can hear it too. 

"This is Hoth base calling Corellian Freighter," Steve's voice carries through the speakers. 

"We never should have let Trip choose the code names," Phil winces. Steve, of course, doesn't get the reference.

"The farmhouse is kind of middle of a frozen ice planet," Natasha says. 

"You're supposed to say that you're Russian and this is nothing," he reminds her. "This storm is nothing."

She frowns. "Well, I'm Russian and I know frozen when I see it." Natasha clears her throat and activates the radio to respond. "Go for Corellian Freighter."

"Are you still coming in for a landing, Corellian?"

"The weather's not the most cooperative. We might do another turn over the lake and land on the other side."

"Negative, Corellian, I think you want to land at the base today." Steve's concern carries through the message and Natasha takes the hint. Phil's stomach flip-flops in his chest and it has absolutely nothing to do with the weather.

"Roger that, Hoth. We'll be in time for dinner." 

Phil buckles himself into the co-pilot's seat and watches the white blur outside grows a little darker as they sink closer to the earth. "Why does he think we should land?"

"Probably doesn't want us to miss dinner. Maybe he and Mrs. May have been barbecuing." 

Phil forces a smile. For some reason, his hands have started to sweat. "Yeah, right out back, next to the landing zone and the ice rink."

Natasha flicks over the radio to the rest of the Bus. "Buckle up back there. The empire's coming and we're needed back at the base."

"Is the empire a code word?" Clint asks over the radio.

"No," Trip clarifies. "The code word for Hydra is Storm Troopers. I told Romanoff to stop improvising with the code."

"Right."

The radio continues to buzz, because everyone's still listening. 

"Barton, put your seatbelt on," Natasha says one more time. There's an audible click, then she shuts down the internal radio. "Well, one frozen ice planet, here we come."

* * *

"Let me," Steve says, moving her hands away from the stiffness in her spine so he can replace her fingers with his own. There's an old injury there, scar tissue from a knife that hit bone. It aches sometimes, as all old injuries do, but it's been bad lately. Steve feels out her vertebrae, then starts to push back against the weight of the baby that's been deforming her spine. The palpable shift from sharp pain, to dull pressure, makes her sigh gratefully. If only he could keep his hands there all day.

"I think she's right up against your spine," he says. 

She leaves on the mantel, resting some of her weight on her arms. Melinda nods, shutting her eyes. Maybe it's because his hands are so strong, or that he can hold the same position for so much longer than anyone else, but she could almost kiss him for keeping his hands there. Steve's strong fingers sit easily on the pain that burns like the knife that was once buried there. 

He keeps one hand on the pressure point and runs the other up and down her lower spine, easing the muscles back into place. Irrationally, she hates Phil for not being here to get the kinks out of her back himself, but if she has to have anyone else, she's glad it's Steve.

"It's worse today," he says. She nods, gritting her teeth. She could get Phil on the radio. She doesn't need him to ease the pain in her back but to help her settle her heart. Pain can be conquered. She's still not meant to bring life into the world and she can't do it without him. He believes in the good of people; she dreads who will betray them next. 

"Why do you always say 'she'?" She hisses through her teeth. It'll pass. It always does. 

"It's easier to pick one. If she's a boy, I'll apologise and he'll learn to deal with the disappointment."

Melinda turns her head just to look at him and he smiles at her. 

"Being a lady is an insult, being a woman, that's something else. No matter what pronouns she ends up using, I think your baby should be pleased I've called her 'she' all this time." 

"You're not going to share some old wives tale about how you can tell by how I'm carrying--" she lets the thought fade because he digs his hands in deeper and for a moment, it doesn't hurt at all. Her sigh of surprise and relief startles him enough that he chuckles. 

"Better?"

"Much."

"This is an old scar," he says, running his thumbs up along her spine. "Shrapnel?"

"Knife," she replies. "Not a sharp one."

"Glanced off the bone," he says, after he finds the dent in her vertebra. "Bloody?"

"Phil thought it was the artery," she says, smiling as she remembers. "Couldn't tell him that if it had been the artery, he wouldn't have needed to worry. That was a long time ago."

"Might be why it's bothering you so much. Old injuries flare up at the oddest times." 

One of the things she loves about Steve is how horrible he is at lying: almost as bad as Jemma. He doesn't think its just that, and he's been hyper vigilant ever since Phil had to leave. She remembers the argument before Phil left and how Steve barely let him go. She understands how much it means to Phil to stop Raina, Quinn and the Hydra threat and how personally he's taken the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. He needed to be on this mission.

If Steve thinks this is the beginnings of labour, maybe he's right. Melinda's not sure she knows what it would feel like. She's read the literature Jemma prepared for her. Her back's been sore most of the last month. This isn't different, but there's a soft concern in Steve's face that worries her. She's not ready; not without Phil. She's supposed to have a few more days, maybe even a week.

Even if he is worried, his hands are steady and he keeps rubbing the sore spot to the left of her spine. 

Would Director Carter be amused and proud of him? Melinda wonders. She remembers all the stories of Steve Rogers that she heard at the academy. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s heroes were spoken of often in hushed tones of reverence. She vividly remembers standing in the Director's office, holding her badge and saying her oath, looking at the old photo of Steve Rogers, before he was Captain America, on Director Carter's desk. She knew Phil idolised the Captain, and she'd heard all the stories. 

Director Carter, the woman who built S.H.I.E.L.D. was the one she looked up to and getting her badge from her hand had meant the world to her. Steve had known her before she was the flinty-eyed, iron hand that steadied S.H.I.E.L.D. even when her hair was grey and her fingers were gnarled. Maybe he'd loved her. 

"What?" Steve asks when she's quiet for too long a time. 

She turns to him, taking his hands as they walk back to the sofa and the book they've been reading for the last month. "Do you wish you'd had a child?"

"Still could," he answers. It's an easy smile, but there's a sadness to it. He's given his life to his power. Steve Rogers might have had an ordinary life, but he agreed to become more than that. Titles are burdens, even when they're full of power and respect. 

She nods and picks up the book. Steve lifts his pad of paper and his pencil, looking at her in that appraising way where he sees all of her. He began drawing her the first day he arrived. She remembers doing tai chi while he watched her. She thought he was drawing the flowers, or the flames in the fireplace, but it was her. He found the grace in her arms in a way she's never really seen herself. 

Phil would have gone crazy even knowing the sketch existed, but they've kept it quiet, because she wants to give him several at once. Steve loves to draw, so he was happy to agree to help her. Their long winter afternoons have the steady routine of May reading aloud while he draws. It seems to help Fitz to have the constant reassurance that they're here, even when he retreats by himself, and Steve likes listening. He's missed a lot of literature in the past few decades. 

Bruce suggested they read _The Lord of the Rings_ , and she'd heard of it, but Steve had no idea, so they started with that. It turned out to be perfect, because Fitz has read the book so many times that he always finds it familiar, even though he can't remember the rest of the book, he's always happy when he walks in on them. 

Sometimes Fitz settles on the floor by the fire and fiddles with his projects. He's admitted that it's hard to finish anything because he's always starting again every morning, and his ideas change from day to day, but it keeps him busy and he's happy when he has something to do. Melinda's mother has her own tasks. She's decorated one of the bedrooms upstairs for her grandchild, and even though the baby won't be able to appreciate anything in there for months yet, it's a beautiful space. 

She's been out with her snowblower all morning, clearing a place for the Bus to set down. It's a long task and seemed like busy work when her announced she would do it, but she wraps herself up and heads outside, making a neat square for Natasha to land on in the frozen yard. Natasha could land on snow, the vertical landing jets will melt most of it, but her mother's decided she will do this, so she's been at it all of today and most of yesterday. The hum of the snowblower's engine finally slows and the door bangs open and shut while the wind screams outside. 

Melinda pauses and sips her tea before she continues reading. When Steve reads to her, all of the characters have their own voices, and she is particularly fond of the one he does for Sam, because he's becoming her favourite Hobbit. She reads everyone with the same voice, but Steve and Fitz never complain. 

"I'm starting dinner," her mother calls from the kitchen. 

Setting down the book, she nearly loses her place, but Steve grabs it. 

"There are eight people on the Bus, mom."

"And you, Steven, me and Leopold."

"Which is twelve. You don't have to feed us all."

"And you'll do what? Make some poor pizza delivery driver come out in the snow? Have them eat on the Bus?"

Steve smirks and wisely says nothing. 

Fitz looks up from his screwdriver and circuit boards and whispers, "She calls me Leopold? Is that in my notes?"

"She always does," Steve whispers back. "I get Steven."

Melinda hushes them both and starts to get up off the sofa. "I'll help."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," her mother says. Shaking her head, she folds her arms in the doorway. "Sit, read to Steven, he likes it. Leopold will help me."

"Ma'am--" Fitz starts, already squirming. "My hands aren't very steady."

"Then you need practice."

"You can't give me a knife, I'll cut my fingers off."

"Nonsense. Steven made breakfast and lunch, and my daughter should rest while she can. You'll be very helpful. Come on, Leopold." She lowers a hand to help him up and Steve starts to move, in case Fitz really needs help, but he manages to get up off the floor. 

The sharp ache in the base of her spine returns, and she shifts on the sofa, but Steve rubs her shoulder. "Sit, rest. She won't let him hurt himself."

"I'm not worried about Fitz," she says. 

"Your back hurts again," he realises. "Come on, sitting will just make it worse." He leaves his drawing and offers his hands to help her up from the sofa. Standing and swaying a little helps, and as foolish as it sounds, somehow she ends up holding his arms and rocking slowly from one foot to the other. He doesn't say anything for a long time, and she rests her head on his chest. "You're almost done," he says. "Almost done." 

She should argue with him. Two weeks seemed like an eternity, but all of a sudden, she's running out of time. The ache in her back rises and falls. His fingers soothe it down again, but it's time, not just touch that makes it go away. Melinda shuts her eyes and lowers her forehead again to his chest. His arm slides around her shoulders and even as she appreciates everything he's done, she wants Phil. This isn't allowed to happen without him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who helped me with this chapter. It was really hard to feel confident about it. I've also had to add two more chapters because there was just too much to fit in and I didn't want to rush it. 
> 
> Discussion of labour. 
> 
> (apologies for not posting last week, it was hellish).

" _It was the third evening since they had fled from the Company, as far as they could tell: they had almost lost count of the hours during which they had climbed and laboured amongst the barren slopes and stones of Emyn Muil, sometimes retracing their steps because they could find no way forward, sometimes discovering they had wandered in a circle back to where they had been hours before,_ " Captain Rogers continues to read even though they've all walked in, his voice carrying pleasantly through the house. 

Skye has no idea what he's reading, but it sounds pretty bleak. She shakes snow off her winter coat and hangs it up on the drying rack May's mother brought out for all of their wet stuff. It was a quick walk from the Bus inside, but the wind's swirling like a crazy thing and they're all covered in snow. 

AC's barely even out of his coat when he tries to leave the entryway. 

Hill stops him. "Take off your boots at least."

He fumbles with the snow-caked laces and Hill bends to help him. He's worried, but he has no reason to be, right? Trip came up with code words for most possible scenarios before they left. There has to be some code word for 'May's gone into labour, land the damn plane'. 

Maybe he just missed her. Jemma and Dr. Banner lend a hand and AC's out of his outwear faster than anyone else. He follows Steve's voice into the living room and no one screams in excitement. 

Rogers comes to welcome them all, followed by Fitz, who's been wrapped in a brightly coloured apron and pressed into cooking duty. Jemma's been dying to know how May's mother cooks, because she has old recipes from China, before the cultural revolution, and she can't resist getting a look at anyone else's organisation. 

They all remove their snowy clothes and settle in. Hill and Trip start discussing where everyone's going to sleep and how to seat them all around the big table in the dining room. 

Barton smiles at Skye and tilts his head towards the living room. "Bet they're next to the fire."

Skye follows him in, almost afraid, because AC was so nervous. He and May are wrapped up in each other and even though it's only been a just over two weeks since they left, May looks even more pregnant. She releases Phil then Skye and Jemma both hug her. Skye's never going to get used to the way May's belly is both hard and soft, and how sometimes she swears she can feel the kid moving. 

Rogers and Romanoff stand off to the side. While Jemma quizzes May about a hundred medical things, Rogers shuts his sketchbook and moves the fat book he was reading from. 

"Are the Nazgûl flying?" Romanoff asks softly, her voice low. 

"I think they've left the fortress," Rogers answers. They share a look Skye probably isn't meant to see. 

Jemma's questions continue and May answers them all without hesitating, but she has her hand on Phil's arm. Dr. Banner's near the back, because he always retreats by himself. He's been so helpful with Fitz's injuries and the mess Jemma got herself into with the GH drug, but he's still shy. Even though the Avengers are his best friends, he's always a little apart. 

Skye's not sure that she can say she really knows him, but he's definitely not a scary green monster. 

"What's labour like?" she asks him.

He stops fiddling with the little sculpture of two birds on the mantle and looks at her. "It's different every time, I think. That doesn't help, does it? It depends on a lot of things, what the woman's body is like, what shape she's in, how well she's been eating, what diseases she's been exposed to--" he cuts himself off. "Sorry. Are we talking about May?"

Skye nods, because there's no point in pretending she's after hypothetical information. 

"She's in good shape. Her muscles are strong and she's physically fit, that always makes things easier. It's her first baby, so her pelvis will soften more slowly. First babies usually take longer. It'll depend on her cervix, how the baby's positioned, what position she labours in." 

She must have looked too worried, because he reaches gingerly for her shoulder. 

"She'll be fine. Her due date's still two weeks away. We're here now, there's a real medical doctor just down the road."

"Through three feet of snow." 

Banner smiles and shrugs. "We have a plane."

"You can't see more than a foot in front of your face out there."

"We're in a warm house with electricity, running water and no one shooting at us," Banner reminds her. He lifts his crossed fingers. "Hopefully."

Lately it's rare to be anywhere that has no one shooting at them, so she nods and tries to share his optimism. May's mother herds them all into the dining room and they sit. The table's full of food, and after eating on the Bus it all smells pretty incredible. 

May's mother has given them all chopsticks and a spoon. There are forks and knives in the kitchen, but no one asks for them. She sits one side of Fitz and Jemma’s on the other. Fine motor control's still difficult for him and it's hard to watch how frustrated he gets each evening when he realises it'll be a struggle to eat his dinner. Jemma's very patient, and May's mother seems to hit the right note with him because he doesn't get angry with her. 

Skye doesn't realise how hungry she is until she starts eating. Even though she's not the best with chopsticks, she makes quick work of her first serving. When she goes for seconds, she notices that May's only toying with her food. Banner and Romanoff discuss something in whispers, AC hovers, not just because he missed her, she’s sure of it. Everyone seems to be lost in their own thoughts. It's hard being the centre of attention, yet May doesn't seem to overwhelmed by it. Skye's not sure she'd be able to cope with being the focus of everyone's thoughts. They're all waiting for the baby, and May's the only one who will really go through that. They'll watch and they'll try to be supportive, but it's her journey, and even AC can only help her so much. 

May doesn't eat much. Her mother says she might be hungry later and puts her plate away. Romanoff brings her tea and AC can't take his eyes off her. He's so in love with her that Skye often wonders if she'll forever be disappointed by her own relationships because they'll never compare. No one has ever looked at her that way and meant it. Ward's still a scar that stings. She thought they’d had something together that mattered.

She doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Between them, the Avengers have enough stories to carry most of it, and Clint's capable of entertaining a whole table just on his own. They sit for a long time with empty plates and steadily emptying glasses and mugs before they start to leave the table. Skye manages to avoid doing the dishes, because Banner apparently actually enjoys cleaning and putting things away and Hill goes with him. 

The fire crackles in the living room. Clint, Jemma, Romanoff, Rogers and Skye end up playing scrabble because Romanoff doesn't like Monopoly, and they have one too many for mah jong. Skye might actually have had a chance at mah jong, she's played it enough on her computer, but it's kind of fun to watch Romanoff and Jemma square off because somehow being a spy has made Romanoff's vocabulary singularly impressive. The two of them are so much ahead that the rest of them jokingly compete only with each other. 

Clint wins their half of the game, but Rogers isn't convinced that 'spamming' is a word and it takes Skye forever to explain that it's unsolicited communication, often on the internet. Rogers has been studying the internet, but rightly doesn't understand why canned meat relates to frustrating advertising. Skye wonders if he's picturing a world where aggressive sales people just hand around cans of meat. 

Jemma starts explaining a few Monty Python sketches involving spam, and most of those go right over Skye's head because she didn't have anyone to expose her to British humour. Clint knows it because he knows everything that's funny. 

May and AC watch them from the sofa, wrapped up in each other in that way they get. May seems so happy, not just to have AC, but to have her, Jemma and Fitz. Fitz is actually winning Battleship, and he's thrilled about it. He's happy. They're all happy. She lets herself imagine that this is what a family gathering feels like. There are bad jokes, too much food, and everyone stays up too late because there's nothing to do tomorrow. 

Hill brings out a box of stuff so they can have fireplace s'mores and it seems like a wildly messy thing to do with the really nice wood floor, but Hill gets away with things in the house that none of the rest of them would. 

"So, a s'more is--" Jemma starts to explain. 

Rogers shakes his head. "I know s'mores."

"Because you were a boy scout?" Jemma asks, leaning over the box as she cleans up the scrabble board. "Did they have boy scouts back then?"

Chuckling, he nods and sits on the floor next to the fire. "We had boy scouts. Bet I can do it better than you. England has lots of great things, but s'mores, they're American."

"And you're the expert on that," Jemma says. 

"It is in his name," Romanoff jokes, nudging him in the ribs. "He gets to claim a few things."

Making s'mores isn't something Skye associates with good. It's a mandatory activity she did sometimes, because foster kids needed to to have nice memories. Except you can’t make happy memories happen, so all she remembers is that they're sickly sweet and super messy. Jemma and Fitz probably don't have s’mores memories at all because they grew up on the other side of the ocean. Did Banner have a normal childhood? Did he go camping with his parents? He seems happy enough to make squishy, half-burnt marshmallow messes with Rogers and Romanoff. 

Clint laughs easily and joins in, getting chocolate all over his face. He must have had a great childhood, growing up in the outdoors, making s'mores with his parents. Maybe he had siblings. He grins at Romanoff like a sister, getting chocolate on her chin. 

Clint talks her through the proper way to get a marshmallow to go golden brown, and her first try is a scorched mess, but the second one turns out okay, so she makes two. Setting them on a plate, she brings them over to May and AC on the sofa. 

They've been watching them from the sofa, sitting back from the fire and the sticky mess the rest of them are calling dessert. May's curled up around her belly, one hand there and the other on AC's arm. One of his hands sits on the base of her spine. Her back must be sore again. She rarely mentioned it in her conversations with AC, but Rogers did. Jemma worried, Banner did, and now all it takes is AC's hand on her back for Rogers to follow Skye to the sofa. 

Not wanting to interrupt, Skye sets the s'mores down near AC on the side table.

"There again?" Rogers asks. He sits down next to May and adds his hand next to AC's. 

"Here," Rogers says. "Pressing here seems to help."

"Right on your scar, isn't it?" AC asks. "Must be deeper than you said."

"Glanced off the bone," May replies. Something in the way AC smiles at her suggests that it's an old argument. The tightness between May's eyebrows fades and her eyes shut for a moment. AC and Rogers both press their hands on her lower back. 

AC leans in and kisses her forehead. "Nearly got the artery."

"No, it didn't." May hisses, wincing when Rogers moves his hands. AC and Steve shift their attentions down, and her breathing calms. 

"Right there, that's it." Rogers lets AC take over rubbing May's lower back and he lifts his hands to her shoulders and neck. 

"You're going to be good at this, you know," AC says. The same admiration he always has for Rogers is there, but there's a new side to it. Rogers was AC's hero before, now that he's taken care of May, he's something even more special. "If you ever take the time."

"Well, you know, it's been a busy couple of decades." 

"Skye--" May draws her attention and everything seems so normal, even though the Avengers are getting marshmallow in each other's hair next to the fireplace. "How did your s'mores turn out?"

"Sticky."

"They're supposed to be sticky." She waves for the plate and Skye brings it over. "Mom always says these are the most ridiculous things. So messy, all sugar, barely even count as food."

"So she keeps the stuff to make them in a box in the pantry?"

"They're American. Her concession to retiring out here. Maybe she was hoping to have grandkids some day." May's lips quirk. "Maybe not during a winter this snowy."

"It's not that bad out." 

The wind howls around them, screaming against the walls of the house. The fire crackles, Romanoff laughs as Clint and Jemma argue about something that might just be Doctor Who. Banner eats his s'more without making a mess, the way everyone else has. He's really almost as much of a neat freak as Jemma. 

May feeds AC a bite, and marshmallow and melted chocolate stain his lips. She rubs it away, smiling at him. She still looks happy, but her eyebrows narrow again. Even with AC's hands on her back, it hurts. She hisses through it again, and Rogers' hands follow AC's. Rogers and AC both look concerned, and Skye guesses she must also have made a face, because Banner heads over to Jemma. 

They talk in whispers, each of them stealing looks at May. 

Her eyes close and the pain fades from her face. "It's fine," she promises. "I'm fine."

"Maybe we should head to bed," AC suggests. 

May moves her head quickly side to side. "It's nothing. It comes and goes."

"Rhythmically," Rogers corrects. "It comes and goes every ten minutes or so." 

"It's not like that."

"And you weren't hungry." Jemma kneels down in front of the sofa, looking up at May's face. "Sometimes loss of appetite indicates the start of labour."

"Contractions can feel like back pain," Banner adds. He crosses his arms and stands unobtrusively behind Jemma. "Sometimes, I mean, it depends on the baby's position and really we'd have to check." 

"May--" AC begins, gently. "Maybe we should let them check you out."

"It's fine. It's nothing. My back's been sore for weeks."

Rogers nods and his eyes meet hers. "Not in a way I haven't been able to fix. Not that keeps coming back." 

Surrounded by all of them, May simply shakes her head. "It's nothing. If I was in labour, my water would break."

"It might not break immediately, it might break much later, or not break at all until the end It's not the most reliable sign of the start of labour," Jemma says, rubbing May's knee. "You've had Braxton-Hicks contractions before?"

Next to May, Rogers nods his head. She agrees less definitely. 

"Were they rhythmic?"

May thinks for a moment and rests her head on AC's shoulder. "Not very."

"And this is," Jemma says. May's nod is half-hearted at best, but Rogers confirms it for her. AC keeps looking between the two of them. Rogers is entirely calm, even relaxed, but May holds back. 

Banner leans in, just behind Jemma. "Jemma and I would feel better if you'd let us examine you. It'll be quick and it'll keep us from worrying."

AC starts to stand, but May doesn't move so he stops. "Give us a minute, would you?"

They all back up. Rogers, Banner and Jemma exchange looks and Romanoff joins them in their little huddle. Hill and Trip are still talking to Fitz, and May's mother must be upstairs. Is she worried? What's it like to know your daughter's having a baby? May's mother doesn't seem to worry at all, but she has to be concerned. Should someone tell her? Does she know already? 

Romanoff and Rogers share something without speaking and Romanoff heads off, presumably to find May's mother and tell her what's happening. 

AC whispers to May, and then he kisses her cheek and something he's said makes her smile. He must know what to say because she smiles and lets him help her to her feet. Rogers trades places with AC, taking May's hands so Jemma can talk to him while Rogers takes her upstairs.

"Skye?" May's voice is so much calmer than Skye could ever get hers to be, especially if she was about to have a baby. 

"Yeah?" Skye can't think of a reason May would want her. Rogers obviously knows what he's doing, and AC's here and just about everyone else has more medical knowledge. May's not the type to want to live tweet her delivery. 

"Be with Coulson for me."

Rogers smiles and keeps rubbing the small of May's back while they're waiting. Skye's starting to understand why AC swoons over him so much. 

"AC? He's fine."

"It's hard for him when he can't help me," she says. "He'll worry."

"You're going to be fine," Rogers assures her. "He'll be fine, too."

"You might have to help, Captain Patriotism," Skye says, looking over as AC listens to Banner and Jemma. AC would do anything for May, and maybe that's why she's worried. He's usually the one who patches her up, who tries to balance her out when she's not herself. He brought her on the Bus to find her again, so yeah, maybe this is going to be kind of brutal for him. 

"You can call me Steve," he says, blushing slightly. "Melinda does." 

Skye raises her eyebrows. She knows May has a first name, but even Coulson rarely uses it. 

May has her hand wrapped tight around Rogers'- Steve's - hand, so Skye takes the other one from her shoulder, ready to share May's weight if she needs to. 

"Thank you," May says to both of them. They start towards the stairs, but have to stop before they start climbing. May's grip changes from tight to iron. Her breath catches, then she breathes through, exhaling through her teeth. 

Skye almost wants to call AC over, because he should be here with her, but he's still talking to Jemma and Banner. "What do we do?" she mouths to Steve. 

"Just wait it out," Steve whispers back. He digs his fist into May's back, which almost looks like it should hurt. "Counter pressure," he explains. "It helps." 

May returns her gaze to Skye's, and it seems to be over for the moment. 

"It's okay," Skye says, feeling totally useless. "We're not in a hurry to get upstairs. We have loads of time, or Steve here could probably just pick you up. Though, AC would probably be jealous."

"Why would I be jealous?" AC asks. He only has eyes for May, but he's still smiling. 

"Skye's suggesting that Steve sweep me off my feet," May teases. 

"Can't say I'd blame either of you," AC says, keeping his tone light. "Our friendly doctors want to check things out."

Skye frowns. "Beware, Dr. Simmons is pokey, and strict."

"I'm sure you'll be a model patient," AC says, "like you've been for me." Skye starts to move closer to AC, to let May change her grip to him, but May's hand stays wrapped around her arm. 

"Phillip, come here please." May's mother summons him and he's pulled into another huddle, this time with Hill, Romanoff and May's mother. There's much looking at the snow outside the windows and Skye looks at Steve and May, to see if they know what's going on.

"It's a cruel storm to ask an old woman to go out in, especially for a false alarm," May says. She's nearly rolling her eyes, but Steve's unconvinced. 

"Banner and Simmons aren't medical doctors."

"They're incredibly well-trained geniuses who've probably read everything there is to know about having a baby, and they'll conclude this is a false alarm." May's jaw is set, but there's sweat on her forehead just under her hair. 

"You're comfortable if they end up delivering your baby?" 

Skye stops on the stairs. "Here, in the house?"

May puts both her hands on Skye's shoulders and studies her face, probably reading her concern. Steve seems unfazed, because that seems to be part of his superpowers. 

"Quinn and Raina are still looking for us," May begins.

"There are military hospitals, ships, secret S.H.I.E.L.D. hospitals or something." Did she miss something? May's having the baby in the house? 

"I was born in my house," Steve offers. 

"In like the 1920s," Skye says. "Before you had antibiotics and incubators and all the stuff you need to have a baby." She hasn't read anything, even though Jemma did offer some dense articles about birth. She's seen old E.R. reruns; you need a lot of stuff to have a baby. 

May squeezes her shoulders, then runs her hands down Skye's arms. "I'm fine here, Skye." 

"In the middle of nowhere."

"My family's here. My mother, Phil, you, Jemma and Leo. You're safe here."

"We could be safe at a hospital."

May takes Skye's hands and starts back up the stairs, this time leading her. "They found us, and Fitz, in Scotland. Innocent people were hurt when they tried to take us. I know we're protected here. My mother's house is one of the most hidden on the planet, even with the Bus parked in the front yard. We're safe here. I feel safe here."

"Your Dr. Simmons and Dr. Banner have spent months preparing," Steve says. "They've run simulations, studied potential outcomes. Besides, there's always Stark and his toys."

What was he suggesting? "He has a robo-GYN?"

"In an emergency, Natasha or Stark can have Melinda in a hospital in minutes. We have back-up."

They stop when they at the top of the stairs. May rocks her hips back and forth where she stands, as if she's bracing herself. 

Skye can guess that a false alarm sounds pretty good when the snow's flying against the windows horizontally outside and you're already tired from the day. It would be more fair to start in the morning, wouldn't it? That way she'd be rested; she could be ready. 

AC bounds up the stairs and meets them. Does he know they're staying in the house? Does he agree? Aren't they just going to make a mess of the bedroom?

"Jemma and Bruce will be up in a minute or two, they wanted to collect their gear."

"It's nothing, Phil." 

"Then it'll be a nothing we're prepared for." 

"Have you had any bleeding?" Jemma asks, setting down the case she's brought from the Bus. "Maybe mixed with mucus? Kind of slimy?"

May hovers near the edge of the bed instead of sitting on it. AC and Steve still have her hands, though she's not leaning on them now.

"You mean the cervical plug? Yesterday," she says. "Made a mess."

"Oh? Was it a lot?" Jemma asks, her face paling. "It shouldn't have been much."

"No, no," Steve assures her. "Just made a mess of the bathroom floor. Not much blood at all. Kind of pink."

AC looks at May and there's pain written all over his eyes. "You didn't say anything."

Steve drops his gaze to the floor before he looks up at May, and it's kind of obvious May didn't want to talk about it. 

"I read that it didn't mean labour was imminent." 

"Okay, that's true," Jemma says. She smiles quickly, because she must have spent a long time putting together things for May to read, and she read them. "However, sometimes labour does start soon after the the cervical operculum is lost. I'd like to check your membranes and your cervix and see if you're dilated at all."

May rolls her eyes and makes the face Skye recognises as the one where they're all crazy. 

AC nudges her towards the bed. "It'll be quick."

"It'll still be a false alarm," May insists. She does sit down but only when AC sits next to her on the edge of the bed.

Skye realises, almost too late to look away, just where Jemma's going to have to check. Steve shuts his eyes and Skye follows his example, because it seems like a good idea under the circumstances. Clothing rustles, AC murmurs something Skye can't hear, but May laughs just a little. Jemma snaps on an exam glove and Skye winces on May's behalf. There are certain places that really should be left alone, especially by hands in rubber-latex-whatever they're made of-gloves. 

May doesn't complain, and Skye has to admire that, because she would definitely complain if it were her, but May's always been quiet. 

"Two, maybe three centimetres." Jemma says. What she's measuring is totally beyond Skye. Sneaking open her eyes, Skye looks from Steve, who shrugs, to Dr. Banner, who definitely knows what three centimetres means, and finishes with her eyes on AC. He knows, and it must mean the baby's coming, because even though he smiles, his forehead is taut with concern. 

"I would know if I was in labour," May says. She isn't even trying to hide her frustration. There's a towel over her lap now and it seems safe to keep looking at her. 

Banner nods and kneels down next to Jemma in front of the bed. He gently touches May's knee. Jemma removes her glove and throws it away. Both of them stare up at her, their faces soft and patient. 

"You have a very high pain tolerance," Jemma begins. "It's possible that what you consider minor discomfort is the start of contractions. Your membranes are still intact, so it's possible that you could remain dilated and not in labour for a few days, but you've already lost your cervical plug and you've had much more back pain than you have previously."

"Think of it as the cork in a bottle," Banner adds. "It stays in place to keep everything out of your uterus until certain hormones let it slip."

"It's still early," May protests. "You said--"

"Thirty-eight weeks from conceptions is hardly exact. Babies develop at different rates, some come a little before, some after. There's a big window there."

Looking at AC for help, May shakes her head. "If there's a big window, there's no reason he, or she would come now. It only just opened."

AC holds her cheek. "I think impatience comes from my side."

She tenses to keep arguing, but instead May fixes her gaze on a point past AC's shoulder and starts controlling her breathing instead of speaking. 

"Hey," he says softly. "If Jemma's right, it's really not a bad thing. We'll get to meet this little guy sooner than we thought, and that's pretty great, isn't it?"

"I'll get the rest of the stuff from the Bus," Banner says. He pats Jemma's shoulder as he leaves and the little smile she gets is reassuring. They've got this. Jemma's the smartest person Skye knows, and Banner's supposed to be a real genius. May's okay in their hands. 

"Easy for you to say," May teases AC. "You might get some sleep tonight."

He shakes his head, staring at her with something between adoration and awe in his eyes. "I won't be able to sleep, Melinda."

Skye should probably look away. Hell, May's half-naked under the towel on her lap and AC looks like he wants to kiss her. Steve's left her side to rummage through her drawers until he finds a nightgown, which he passes to AC. 

Skye can help with that, she decides, after just standing near the door makes her feel like an idiot. Jemma and May changed her clothes a few times when she was too weak to do it herself after she'd been shot. Skye remembers their hands on her skin and how comforting it was to know she was safe. For once in her life, she was cared for. She can give that back. She can make May feel safe. 

Between the four of them, getting May out of her clothes and into her deep blue nightgown is quick work. 

Once they move away, May rests her hand on AC's chest, then tugs his tie. "Go change, Phil."

"I'm fine," he starts to argue, but he stops and grins. "I suppose I'd better get out of the suit, right? Okay."

Skye's not sure what May's hidden message is, but AC grabs some of his pyjamas from the bottom drawer of the dresser and heads for the bathroom to change. Jemma's laying out some medical stuff wrapped in protective sterile packets, and all of that is pretty intimidating. 

"Do you have any questions?" Jemma asks, turning from her tools. "I'll do my best--"

May cuts her off. "I trust you, Jemma and Bruce. We'll be fine."

After a second, Skye realises that May's talking about herself and the baby, not the team of them delivering the kid. The kid really is a person, and that person's on his- her- their- way here. Her stomach knots a little when she thinks about the journey the kid and May are going to have to share. It can't be easy to know what's coming. Does May wonder what it'll be like? Is she afraid? Is she ever afraid? Skye looks away and notices May's hand reach towards her. Taking it, she squeezes the damp fingers around her own, hard, so May will know Skye doesn't think she's fragile. 

"I'm glad you're here, Skye."

"Me?" Skye wonders. Jemma and Banner have a purpose. Steve's a superhero, so there's probably some 'I helped deliver a baby' badge he needs to get (and he's quiet the same way May is, so it's no surprise that they get along). AC has to be here, because it's his baby, too. Skye's the least useful person in the room. 

"Yes, you."

"Do you need something? What me to make sure Quinn and Raina don't know where we are? Should I scramble our phones?"

May almost laughs, and her voice rumbles a little her throat. "No, not, that's all right."

Resting one hand on Steve's back, May using his steadiness and Skye's hand to pull herself up to her feet. 

"It's better standing, isn't it?" Steve asks, even though it's easy to tell from May's face what the answer is. 

"I can't do anything."

"Skye--"

"I really can't, I don't know anything about what's going on and, honestly, it's a little scary, and messy, and it's just totally out of my skill set."

"Skye, I don't need you to do anything."

"What?"

"I don't need you to do anything. I'm fine."

"I don't--"

"I'm scared, too."

"You? But you're--"

She stares down at her belly and sighs. "In here, he's safe. I can protect him. Out there? I can't."

"But you have us! We're all here and you have the Avengers downstairs playing Scrabble. We'll all protect Baby C."

"You will."

"Of course we will, we're going to spoil the little guy rotten and I can't promise I'll remember not to swear in front of him and I'll probably get him really noisy toys and I was never good at cleaning my room or putting my stuff away so I'll be a terrible role model, but I promise we'll protect Baby C with everything we've got, and that's kind of a lot, because we keep winning against the bad guys."

"So you'll protect my baby?"

"And love him, and probably feed him the wrong baby food or chocolate and--"

"See, I do need you."

"That's totally not fair."

May smiles at her. Skye walked right into that and she didn't even see it coming.

"Of course I need you," May says, increasing her grip on Skye's hand.

Skye doesn't know what to say. Steve's watching her and May, smiling quietly. Did he realise what she was walking into? He just sat back and watched.

She's not sure whether to thank May or give her a hard time. She's still trying to think of a comeback when May inhales, her breath sharp.

Steve nudges Skye's arm. "Breathe with her. Slowly."

"Coulson?" Skye asks, looking for him. This is really his department.

"I'm here, " he says, pulling his T-shirt on over the scars on his chest as he hurries.

"I'm fine," May reminds him and he kisses her hair.

"I know."

Steve takes his suit from him to hang it in the closet so AC can be with May. AC kisses her hair and wraps his arms around her back. 

"Hey," he whispers. "You're doing great."

She smirks at him, even though it has to hurt because she's still gritting her teeth. "This is the easy part."

"I don't know if any of this had an easy part," he replies. Her hands rest on his shoulders and they sway a little together. "Steve says you've been great so far."

"Are you calling him Steve now?"

"You do."

"He's lived with me for a month."

AC strokes her face, and Skye has to look away because the way they look at each other doesn't seem to be the kind of thing anyone should share.

"I'm sorry."

"I know how jealous you were," May replies. AC chuckles and then it's okay to look again. 

"I would have traded places with you if I could."

May exhales and there's no pain in her voice now. It must be done, at least for the moment. "You really would have, wouldn't you?"

He rubs his hand across her belly and nods. "I would now."

"Remind me later," May teases. In her bare feet she's much shorter than him so he leans down so she can kiss him. 

Steve touches Skye's shoulder, gently taking her away from just watching them. "Come on, we'll let them get settled and we'll be right downstairs when they need us."

Skye wonders about AC as they head downstairs. How's she supposed to help him? They're fine now. They're together. May can dislocate her own wrist and pop it back in. Having a baby's nothing, right?

She was worried though. She wouldn't have asked for Skye's help otherwise. When May asks for help, she needs it. How much worse is it going to get? 

Steve doesn't look too worried, mostly calm, but he's famous for that. Back in the living room, Romanoff and Clint look up from their game. Fitz is totally beating them both at Settlers of Catan. 

"Everything okay?"

"Melinda's having the baby," Steve answers, sitting down next to Romanoff. "Probably not tonight, but hopefully some time tomorrow."

"Hopefully?" Skye asks. "What do you mean, hopefully?"

Romanoff's face softens and she pats the sofa on the other side of her so Skye will sit. "Sometimes it takes longer."

"When May was born, her mother was in labour for two days," Hill says. She hands Skye a fresh mug of coffee and sits down next to Fitz. "She tells the story sometimes, when she's angry with May."

"Angry with May?" Skye stares down at her coffee and looks up to see the mugs in everyone's hands. They're all staying up. No one's moved to start going to bed. All the board games are out, and it sounds like May's mother is busy in the kitchen. 

"I thought May was the perfect child. Look at all her trophies!"

Hill and Romanoff share a look and grin. Steve hands Skye a cookie to go with her coffee. It seems the game's forgotten for the moment. 

"Her sense of humour and her mother's don't really match up. Apparently she gets it from her father."

"May's father?"

"He's in deep cover," Clint says.

"Or dead," Romanoff adds.

"Or a triple agent," Hill says.

"I heard he was retired and growing tea," Fitz says from the floor. They all look down at him. "Mrs. May said--"

"I say many things, Leopold," May's mother says. She walks through the doorway with more coffee and another kind of cookies.These ones are really chocolate, so Skye trades the one she has. 

"Some of them are true," May's mother finishes. She hands Fitz a cookie and eyes the board. "You're winning again."

"I remember how to do that."

"You do." She sits on the sofa behind him and pats his shoulder. "I can't remember how many times you've taught me to play this game."

Fitz seems mildly horrified. "Why don't you tell me you know? You shouldn't let me ramble like that." 

"I like your explanations," May's mother says. "You're enthusiastic and thorough." She ruffles Fitz's hair with affection then looks over at Steve and Skye. "Is my daughter all right?"

"Yeah," Skye says. "AC- Coulson--"

"Phillip," May's mother corrects. "He's with her."

"And Simmons, and Dr. Banner. Really, they're both doctors, I just--"

"Skye, I trust she's being looked after. I asked if she was all right."

Skye doesn't understand. Of course May's all right. She's always all right. She picked up the Beserker Staff, twice. She's been shot, stabbed, beaten up by an Asgardian and Ward. All right doesn't even begin to cover it. 

"She didn't want to believe it was happening," Steve offers when Skye can't come up with anything. "I don't think she's entirely ready."

"Parents rarely are," May's mother agrees with a quick nod. Instead of heading upstairs to check on her daughter, she pats Fitz's unruly hair again and stands up to go back to the kitchen. Romanoff and Steve look at each other, sharing more of that Avengers' group think that seems to work so well for them. Steve follows May's mother into the kitchen and Clint flops down to his place on the sofa. 

"It'll be fine," Romanoff assures her. She hands Fitz the dice to carry on the game. "It's your turn." 

When the game comes around to Romanoff's turn, Skye's suddenly playing for her and she didn't even realise Romanoff had left the sofa. 

Clint grins and waves at the board. "She does that. You're green."

* * *

"You know, we've never really been dancing," Phil says. They rotate slowly on the soft rug by the bed. Normally, her feet would be cold, but sweat's in her hair already and soon it'll be all over her skin. 

"We have." They've danced together undercover several times. Sometimes he is a good dancer and sometimes his cover requires that he be less competent. One of her favourites was when she was allowed to be terrible, and he had to spend so much time pretending she hadn't hurt him when she stepped on his feet. 

Phil is a very good dancer, but she's not sure when she last danced with him. Maybe at her wedding, a long time ago.

"You'll tell me when you're sick of standing?"

She squeezes his arms. "Standing's easier."

"I know, but you'll tell me if it's not?" That gentle look covers his face and she almost wishes she could spare him the next several hours. 

"I probably won't have to tell you."

"Melinda--"

"I'm fine."

"I know."

She tries not to tense when her muscles start to creep into the next contraction. There's a strange kind of tingling that leads into it, and they've moved from her back into her belly. She shouldn't tense. She knows better. Pain is conquered by being relaxed, not by letting it take you.

Phil hears her breath catch and he slows his own. He's probably held her like this, helping her calm, more than they've danced together. He's pulled broken glass and lead from her flesh over and over. 

It's harder to relax each time her body contracts in on itself. She tries to think of it positively. Contractions move the baby downward and prepare him to breathe on his own. When it's over, he, or she, will be separate, breathing on her own, grabbing Phil's fingers. She just has to outlast this. 

"Don't-

"-Tense," Melinda finishes for him. "I know." Is it harder to speak than it was before? How much time as passed? Phil's not wearing his watch and Jemma and Bruce are on the other side of the room, talking over the emergency equipment they hopefully won't need. 

Phil strokes her hair back from her face. She should put it up. "I won't have to remind you if you do it."

She hisses her breath slowly through her teeth and imagines his fingers wrapped in a baby's fist. She'll enjoy seeing that, watching him hold their baby. 

"I'm glad you're back," she says when she has the breath again. 

He kisses her forehead, then her cheek and finally her lips. "I couldn't miss this."

"I thought we had time." She rests a hand on his chest, feeling his heart. 

"We have time."

"Not that much."

"I think it'll feel a lot longer than it is." There's a sorrow in his eyes she wishes she could lift. It's not going to be easy for him. She can sink into it, let it wash over her, but he can't. 

"You're not alone," she reminds him. "Skye's here, Maria, Natasha, Steve--"

"I know." He rubs her belly and she guides his hand over to where she felt the baby's foot. "We've a good back up team in place."

"Probably the best," she says. She smiles slowly and wonders how the news would report on the Avengers delivering a baby in a snowstorm? It's hardly the Battle of New York. 

Jemma nods to them quickly and leaves, maybe she's giving downstairs an update. Natasha appears in the door as she leaves and slips in. She's quiet, because she rarely needs to speak to read a room. Bruce draws Phil's attention and Natasha's hands replace Phil's to steady her hips. 

"Your mother may have implied that you deserve a few days of this," Natasha whispers when Phil's out of hearing. 

"She probably thinks I do." Melinda watches Phil and Bruce speak, and Phil's still smiling, so it can't be too bad. "Fifty-three hours," she repeats in the tone she's heard her mother use a hundred times.

"Fitz wants to stay awake all night," Natasha explains. "He doesn't want to forget."

Melinda's eyes sting. How strange it will be for him to wake up and be told about a baby whose existence he's forgotten overnight. 

"Clint and Trip are keeping an eye on him, so's your mother."

"She's kind to him." Her muscles start to tense again and Melinda drops her head to Natasha's shoulder. Fitz misses his own mother terribly, and her mother's responded to that void because Fitz's mother can't be here with them. 

"Slowly," Natasha orders. "Don't hold your breath."

Melinda's never been impatient and the tightness in her belly is one of her lesser concerns. Enough ICErs for a small army sit in her mother's study, along with more lethal weapons. The Bus waits outside in the snow, and Natasha could have them airborne and on their way in minutes. Everything has a contingency plan. They can run or fight if they need to, and that's the life she's giving this baby. 

Once the baby breathes on her own, how many of those breaths will be taken in danger? How many times will someone else have to pick her up from school because her parents are being shot at? Will she lose them? Will Phil become a face in a photograph like her own father? Will he have to explain who she was to a child who doesn't remember her mother? 

As if it feeds off her worries, the contraction tightens down like bands of iron around her belly. Natasha's strong and steady but it's hard to follow her breath. It seems too slow. She gasps in, gulping air, but Natasha helps her ground herself and so she can exhale slowly. Natasha's lived with pain, as she has. She knows what the fight's like. 

"You're all right," Natasha promises her. "Keep breathing. You're all right."

Melinda doesn't worry about herself, but Natasha's repeated words are comforting. She can't be afraid, not even for the baby. 

Bruce follows Phil over, fidgeting with his hands. "When Jemma gets back, we'd like to check you again."

Phil reaches for her shoulder and she grabs his arm. So that's what they were talking about. She doubts anything's changed, surely it hasn't been that long?

"It's nearly midnight," Natasha clarifies. She still has her watch. Phil must have set his aside with his suit.

When did she last think about the time? She can't remember looking at a clock. One of them must be paying attention. Jemma surely has to have everything written down. 

Natasha and Phil guide her back towards the bed. It looks different. Did they remake it? Jemma and Bruce have been moving around, making things ready. Melinda didn't realise how much stuff they needed or how many things they need to plan for. 

"You don't have to sit until Jemma gets back," Phil assures her. "She's telling your mom how you're doing."

"What's she doing?" 

Natasha grins. "Cooking. I think, maybe baking. She's been in the kitchen."

"It's how she deals with stress," Phil remembers. "I hope everyone's hungry tomorrow."

"We will be," Natasha says. "We don't get cooked for much. Thor cooks, when he's around, and Clint will, but Tony usually just gets his kitchens to make us whatever we want, and it's good, but it's not the same."

When Jemma returns, Melinda almost expects her mother to be with her, but she must still be downstairs. She'll stay with Fitz and worry about the weather. She'll probably dig out her old cookbooks and make things Melinda hasn't eaten since she was a child. She has run a lot of errands lately, and the pantry's full. Maybe that was her way of preparing.

The rush of pain creeps over her before she braces for it and she sways a little. Phil and Natasha are completely steady, and Phil breathes with her. She remembers teaching him the technique, a long time ago. He holds her arms and Natasha's small hands settle on the base of her spine, pressing back against the pain there. It's all around, as if her stomach's pulling into her back and the baby and the water around him sit in the middle.

Listening to Phil's breathing next to her ear is surprisingly effective at balancing her own. She mimics him, letting him lead. 

Jemma returns as the contraction ends. She waits for Melinda to lift her head from Phil's chest and wipes sweat off her face. Her hands are so gentle. 

"Skye says you left her in a bad place, Agent Romanoff."

"She could have saved it," Natasha says. Melinda has no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to have the conversation momentarily not revolve around her. "Clint will trade anything."

"Maybe with you," Phil jokes. Even though her back's on fire and Jemma's going to feel around for her cervix, which is stranger than it's invasive because everything's so wet. It is funny how Jemma can be so shy, and then so sure of herself when it's something she's studied.

They have her sit on the edge of the bed again and part her legs. Phil looks away from Jemma's gloved hand. 

Natasha makes a face. "Doctors are so pushy once they get the gloves on."

"I asked very politely," Jemma retorts, almost upset. 

Melinda touches her shoulder to calm her, and ends up calming herself. Jemma's solid and cool because her shirt's still dry. Phil's is damp with their mixed sweat, more hers than his. 

Jemma's fingers reach up and in, and Melinda lets her breath slow. 

"If you tell Phil what to look for, I'm sure he'd do it for you," Natasha teases. Phil nudges her and poor Jemma flushes bright pink. 

"I'm very sorry that I haven't done this before. Dr. Banner has, but he thought May might be more comfortable with me." Jemma takes off her glove and tosses it into the trash. "My hands are smaller."

Natasha giggles, because she's always been able to find the inappropriate funny. Phil nudges her again and that only makes her smirk more. "If she's ever seen his Hulk hands, it's really funny." 

Jemma flushes even more and Melinda touches her cheek. "It's all right, Jemma. You're doing a great job. Ignore them."

Phil looks wounded because he's innocent, but Jemma relaxes. "I think you're at five centimetres now, which is good."

Looking at Natasha and her impossible smile, Melinda sighs. "Ten would be better."

"Don't wish too fast. Agent Baby's on his own schedule." 

"Agent Baby?" Phil asks, raising his eyebrows. 

"Future Director?" Natasha teases, trying to get his eyebrows up higher. "I've been waiting for a suitable protege." 

For a moment, Melinda can almost picture their child, learning defence from Natasha. Laughing at her terrible jokes and sneaking around to knock her to the mat, because she'd let the kid win sometimes. She can't picture anything more 'normal' and guilt rises in her throat. Maybe she's supposed to imagine a bicycle and a dog, or hands covered in fingerpaint. 

Steve can't wait to draw the baby. He hasn't had a chance to draw a newborn since his old life, so many decades ago, and he loves the way their skin folds and wrinkles. 

Natasha is a killer from the Red Room. Steve fought in the darkest parts of World War II. Skye's a hacker with no family and a long list of juvenile offences. Jemma and Fitz are nearly suitable role models, even though they spent more time with their books and their lab than either of them have with friends or family. Phil's killed and made terrible choices to defend the world. Her own past is perhaps the darkest of all. The hands she rests on Phil's shoulders have taken so many lives. 

Agent Baby, Baby C, Future Director: whomever this child ends up being, she'll have to see darkness. She learn darkness from her family and hopefully learn to turn from it. It's a tremendous responsibility to impart on a child. Here, among killers and liars, she'll have to learn compassion and truth. 

The next contraction assaults her while Natasha and Phil argue about the career prospects of a baby who hasn't yet drawn breath. Jemma lays a hand across her belly, feeling the muscles tighten beneath her skin. She meets Melinda's eyes, seeking permission and forgiveness, and it's easy to offer both. Melinda's never been that fond of doctors; they're calculating and overprotective. Jemma studies her contraction with the same wonder she holds for the rest of the world. Which is almost enough to make it hurt a little less. 

Phil slows his breathing again, but Natasha must have said something funny because he's on the edge of laughter. She wants to tell him that it's fine. That he can laugh while she holds his shoulders through the sweaty fabric of his shirt. She needs him, and his smile is a very valuable part of him. 

"Do they still hurt your back?" Jemma asks, waiting patiently for Melinda to have enough breath to answer. 

"Not as much. It's further forward."

"Forward and down, or just forward?"

Melinda meets Phil's eyes and wishes she could tell him what it feels like without words, so he could speak for her. He's held her through so much time that she's been in pain. Explaining broken ribs and gunshots when she ran out of breath. 

"Just forward," Melinda pauses and swallows. Her mouth tastes metallic and sour. She must have made a face because Natasha has something for her to drink. She can't place the smell. "Not down, yet, I think."

"You might want to sleep, if you can." Bruce suggests from behind Jemma. "You have a long way to go yet and it'll be harder if you haven't slept."

Melinda has no idea how she's supposed to sleep through her belly contracting like some kind of feral python. Sitting down just turns the burning ache in her lower back into a stabbing one. She can't imagine lying down's much better.

"No," she says. She shakes her head a moment later. "I can't."

"Okay." He's playing with something in his hands, something soft and pale green. Melinda can't figure out what it is. "How's walking?"

She draws her eyes away from his hands. "Better."

"Then walk. You have the upstairs hallways, and some of the rooms." Bruce turns his gaze to Phil and Natasha. "They'll stay with you."

"Maybe they should sleep." Especially Phil. She'll need him more later, when it slips further from her control. 

He rubs sweat from her forehead. His eyes are too bright and he can't look away from her, even though it already hurts him to watch. "I can't, Melinda. Not right now."

She nods, but she's careful to make sure Natasha supports more of her weight as they walk. Their hands are always with her, steady and strong. Sweat rolls down her skin, beading and soaking into her nightgown. Even her legs are wet with it. She watches the tiny drops of sweat fall to the wood floor beneath her bare feet in the hall. She's forgotten something wet. Something else should have pooled around her feet. 

"Phil?" 

"I'm here."

"Why hasn't my water broken?"

His hand rubs across the back of her neck, beneath the ponytail holding her hair up from her skin. "I don't know. Jemma's not worried."

He steadies her between Natasha and the wall, then touches her face again. "I'll find out."

Having the wall up against her back is surprisingly comfortable, and Natasha doesn't even seem tired. "I'm sure it's one of those things that breaks when it's ready."

That sounds right, but it's hard to remember what the literature Jemma gave her said. It was very thorough, and Jemma added a lot of her own notes, which made it even more to read. She tried to get through it all a few times, but Phil's read more of it than she has. 

Phil returns with Jemma, and her lips are tight with concern. Jemma's ready to explain, but another contraction takes Melinda's attention. She shuts her eyes this time, not wanting to watch the sympathy pass over Phil's face. He's there. She can smell him over her own sweat and she can hear him breathing along with her. She needs that more than the sight of him.

Jemma's expression is even more concerned when Melinda opens her eyes again. Between her and Phil, she's glad for Natasha, who has no trouble continuing to smile. 

"I think the baby's blocking your water from breaking. The membranes are pretty strong, and if there isn't enough pressure, they won't break until later. My research says contractions hurt less before your water breaks, and it shouldn't slow down labour at all, so I wouldn't worry about it."

"The floor?" Melinda asks. 

That makes Phil roll his eyes at her, and Natasha smirks and nods. 

"We'll clean it up. I doubt it'll stain."

Her mother's very proud of the hardwood floors in this house. Maria knows that. She understands. Is Maria still awake? Her mother must be, because she won't sleep at all. 

"Downstairs?" Melinda asks, missing some of the words she wanted. 

Phil shrugs. "It's been awhile since I was down there." 

"I'll stay," Jemma offers. "Why don't you get some coffee?"

"Especially if you're not going to sleep," Natasha adds. "We've got her."

Phil kisses her and his lips seem cooler than her skin. 

She pats his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere." 

"You'd better not." His eyes darken. She's not the one who leaves; he knows it. 

He kisses her again and she leans into him. Downstairs seems so far away, almost like another world. 

"I'll be back," he promises. "I'll be right back." Phil turns quickly, almost as if he doesn't trust himself to leave her. 

Jemma slips under her arm, taking Phil's place. "You're doing really well. You shouldn't worry about your water not breaking. It'll happen, or it'll break at the end. The baby will be fine no matter when it happens. We're all looking out for you."

She should say something. 

Natasha nods to her, making it okay for her to be quiet. "We've got him too."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a baby...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of childbirth. 
> 
> Unbetaed because I have a hellish day tomorrow. All errors are mine. Huge thanks to AddisonRules and RighteousNerd for holding my hand. All mistakes are mine.

Everyone looks up when he comes downstairs. Skye, Trip, Maria, Clint and Fitz sit huddled around a game board with tiny brightly coloured wooden houses. Steve has his notebook open on his lap and his pencil moves absently, adding slowly to his drawing.

Clint, laughing, finishes saying something about sheep and sets down his cards. "Hey, dad, how's it going upstairs?"

All of their faces are so hopeful. He manages to smile, because they're all so excited. "May's tough."

"We know," Trip replies. "No baby yet, then?"

Everyone waits for him to reply, and he doesn't know what to tell them. Five centimetres is halfway, but it's not exact.

"I think if they had one, he'd would have bounced down those stairs," Clint says. He gets to his feet, holding his coffee and wraps an arm around Phil's shoulders. "Give mom our best, okay? We're all betting on her."

"We wouldn't dare bet otherwise," Maria adds. She hands Phil a fresh cup of coffee and Clint ducks into the kitchen for something.

His coffee's almost too hot to drink but he gulps it down because he's not going to sleep, even if Bruce and Jemma think he should.

Fitz yawns into his hand and clutches his mug to his chest. It won't be coffee, because he never drinks it. He's probably nearly high on tea. Phil smiles at him and touches his shoulder. "I heard you were going to stay up all night."

"Don't want to wake up in the morning and be surprised by the baby," he says. He points at the tablet. "I've been taking notes so if I fall asleep I'll remember, but it seems like the kind of thing I'd just like to be awake for. You and May don't have a kid every day."

"No," Phil says. "We certainly don't." He rests his hand on Fitz's shoulder, wishing he could do something to help restore his memories.

"Is May okay?"

He's not ready answer that, because Phil doesn't know what to say. She's in pain, but she's handling it. She always does. She has to be much more exhausted than he is, but it hasn't gotten to her yet. They've both been up all day, but she's been in labour most of it and that can't even compare. What can he do? Does she need to eat? Would she eat anything if he tried to get her to?

"She's all right. It's hard, but she's strong."

"She is," Fitz agrees. "Tell her I think so."

"She knows, but I'll tell her. She missed you."

Fitz taps his tablet. "I know, it's in my notes." His smile fades and he looks down before he meets Phil's eyes again. "I'm sorry I don't remember congratulating you two about the baby, and I hope I did, because when I know about it, I think it's great and you'll be great parents. It's weird, but that's okay. I'm getting the kid a monkey, because kids should have monkeys. A stuffed one, of course, not a real one, though, maybe when the kid's grown up a bit--"

"Thank you," he says. His throat's gone tight. He pats Fitz's shoulder one more time then heads for the kitchen, because her mother will want an update.

She's wrapped in a bright green apron, rolling out dough of some kind on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sweet spices float in the air, and it's some kind of dessert. Must be something Melinda likes. She finishes the roll she's working on, folding thin layers of dough into something more square and setting it in the pan. She brushes her hands clean on her apron and nods to him.

"You need to eat, sit."

He clings to his coffee. "I'm all right."

"You're not eating for you." She sets a glass of orange juice in front of him. "Drink, eat, for Qiaolian."

Phil reaches for the orange juice and sips it. The sweetness of it batters his tongue. He gulps it down next, because that's easier. She sets soup in front of him and it smells spicy and herbal. He's not quite sure what the green leaves are, but they add a tartness to it that goes well with the noodles. He would have argued that he wasn't hungry, and probably not even have eaten if May's mother hadn't been so insistent. Once he starts, he realises how long it's been since he's had food.

May's mother nods at him, sets a steamed bun in front of him on a plate and returns to what she's doing, leaving him to devour his soup on his own. He's probably slurping, and not behaving in a respectable, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. sort of way at all, when someone joins them in the kitchen. May's mother nods to whomever it is, and they sit down next to him at the table.

Phil glances over eventually, and it's the sketchbook that gives Steve away. Steve's sitting right next to him, his pencil balanced on top of his paper. He almost chokes on his soup.

"You don't have to gulp it down. Nat will take good care of Melinda."

It took Phil nearly a year to call her anything other than May after they met. Steve called her Melinda from the first day they met, and she's always called him Steve. He was a little jealous when he introduced them. Steve smiled so easily when Melinda complained about how much time the baby spent twisting and turning. Of course, the baby kicked right away when he felt for it and Steve managed to make her laugh when he jumped in surprise. Before the Bus was even loaded, they were friends. Phil left Melinda on the sofa, with Steve rubbing her ankles.

"Yeah," Phil says aloud, shoving down his guilt. Maria could have run the mission. Steve could have gone with them. He should have stayed and been the one Melinda complained to about her ankles and how the baby was throwing off her sense of balance when she did tai chi. He missed most of the last month of her pregnancy. Captain America did the silly breathing exercises with her that she thought were a waste of time. He read to her when her head hurt and cooked when she wanted to eat blueberry pancakes and bacon. Captain America realised Melinda was in labour before he did, maybe even before she did.

"It's okay, you know." Steve's hand rests on his shoulder and Phil startles. Steve rubs his back, calming him. "You made a tough call."

Barely chewing his noodles, Phil swallows. "Having a tough choice doesn't excuse making the wrong one."

"Do you think you were wrong to go?"

He sets down his spoon and stares into the broth left in his bowl. In other other situation he'd argue that he knows Quinn and Raina, that he can predict them better than Maria can. Skye and Jemma had already been hurt by them both, and he couldn't let them go alone. Then again, they were with the two deadliest assassins he knows, and a man who cannot be destroyed by any means. Skye and Jemma were safe with the Avengers on the Bus. Maria had been Fury's lieutenant for years. She knows S.H.I.E.L.D. better than anyone still 'living' and she's the most competent person Phil knows, after Melinda. Maria would be a better director than he is, so that wasn't why he had to go.

"Yeah," he admits, resting his forehead in his hands. He lifts his head again and turns to Steve, but he sees none of the judgement he expects.

"Have you read _The Lord of the Rings_?" Steve asks.

Phil nods. "Of course."

"Great book, really detailed, especially all the languages," Steve pauses, turning a steamed bun in his hands. "I've been trying to come up with a good analogy for you about the burdens we carry to make you feel better. Melinda said you felt guilty and I've been trying to wrap my head around us all having our own rings to bear to dangerous places. Sometimes we have a whole fellowship, like the one in this house, but sometimes you can only take your best friend when you walk into the darkness. Something clever like that."

"Melinda is my best friend."

Steve grins. "I know."

"I should have been with her."

"You weren't, and that's a difficult thing to carry."

Phil realises May's mother is still watching him so he drinks the broth out of his bowl and sets it aside. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he sighs. "I almost didn't make it back in time."

Steve nods and his hand rubs across Phil's shoulders again, warm and comforting. "There were a few nights where I think Jun-Ying and I both worried that Melinda would just have the two of us and good Doctor Ogundana when the baby came."

"You would have been fine," Phil assures him, because even in the middle of one of the longest nights of his life, he can't help idolising him. Captain America would, of course, be a stellar labour coach.

"That's kind of you to say. I, for one, am incredibly glad that the Bus arrived when it did. Some parts of the story need the hero."

Shaking his head, Phil takes a bite of his bun and has to speak around it. "I'm hardly the hero. Boromir, maybe, reaching for things that were never meant to be mine." He swallows, hard. He should have stayed with Melinda.

"Oh no, you're not him," Steve says. He stares at him for a long time, as if somehow he can see into Phil's soul. Maybe he can. It's not in his dossier, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is full of secrets. "You're Sam."

"Sam?" Phil asks. Setting his bun down, he folds his hands on the table. "I can't garden."

Steve shrugs. "That's hardly the defining part of his character."

"I thought you were less than halfway through the trilogy?"

Steve leans in, pulling Phil in closer. "Don't tell Melinda."

"Don't tell her what?"

"I read ahead when she falls asleep. She's been tired and I guess I have the right kind of voice to sleep through, because often I only get a few pages in and she's fast asleep. I keep two bookmarks, skip ahead to where I left on and keep reading. I finished the story days ago, I'm just reading all the appendices again now, making sure I absorbed all of the songs and poetry."

"She's slept through most of the book?"

"Some parts more than once," Steve admits. "I don't mind, the narrative's really beautiful and I like listening to her read aloud when it's her turn. Leo never really remembers where we are in the book, but he knows it so well it doesn't matter." His smile brightens. "Now you know my secret."

"I can't believe you've skipped ahead. Natasha says you can't lie," Phil continues, "yet you lied to May."

Steve shrugs. "Maybe she knows, perhaps it's baby brain. Plenty of those planks on the internet talked about that."

"Planks?"

"Discussion planks, on the internet."

"Boards," Phil corrects.

"Right, that's it. Anyway, when Melinda was reading them--"

"She read discussion boards on the internet?"

Steve's smile betrays his curiosity. "Is that unusual?"

"Yeah," he nods. "She always lets Skye handle the computers for her."

"Maybe she was curious. There's a whole lot of knowledge on the internet." Steve looks at his hands, then turns his gaze back to Phil. "We talked about you a lot. She thinks the baby should sleep in your office."

"My office?"

"It's protected, in the centre of the plane, and you'll be there when the baby wakes up. It's a sweet idea."

She'll be up in the cockpit most of the time, so his office makes sense. He just hasn't imagined much of their baby on the Bus. They're really going to take a tiny innocent along on their missions? They get shot at. Asgardians fight in the Bus; it's no place for a baby. What's their alternative? Visiting the baby on weekends? Dragging May's mother along to babysit in secret bases? Splitting up? Being director of S.H.I.E.L.D. used to be a low-action position. Fury spent most of his time in his office, and baring Loki trying to conquer the planet and Hydra's rise, Fury didn't get shot at much. It would be much easier to be the director of a functioning organisation, where he could hold the baby between meetings with the council.

It'll get better. They'll be shot at less. They'll do the best they can with the baby. Being with her- his- parents, even in the field has to be better than not seeing them. He and Melinda both grew up without their fathers. That's not going to happen to his child.

"Anyway, Phil, the important thing about Sam is that he makes it home and has a wonderful life with his family. So few people get that. Would be nice if you and Melinda did." Steve touches his shoulder again, squeezing with strong fingers. "Take care of her, okay? She's pretty special."

"I know." He watches Steve smile, almost wistful now, before he disappears back into the living room. He must have wanted to have children, especially when he was growing up. Has he lost his chance? He's been so good with Melinda that Phil hopes he gets the chance to take care of the mother of his own child someday. He'll be good at it. He knows so many people who would be incredible parents, if they decided to take that path. He was never going to, but his life is different now. Melinda and the baby are everything, and it's not what he predicted, but it's wonderful.

Resting his chin on his hands, Phil looks up at May's mother. He's eaten most of his food and drank all the coffee she's put in front of him, maybe that's enough for him to be released. 

"She doesn't ask for help."

Phil bobs his head. "I know."

"She won't now." Jun-Ying stares at him across the table. Her dark eyes sear through him, but she nods. "Then you'll help her."

"I love her."

They've never had the most comfortable relationship. He's barely been acceptable as her daughter's friend, and as the father of her grandchild, Phil's sure he leaves much to be desired. This time, however, she believes him.

"It doesn't get any easier," Jun-Yin says when he gets up to leave. "The night before Qiaolian was born was the longest of my life, until each night that came after. She's my world."

"Mine too."

"Don't let her snap at you. Qiaolian pushes people away when she's frightened."

"She's going to be a great mother."

"She'll never see it that way. She'll only see the faults. All parents do. You, Phillip, you should tell her how incredible she is, every day."

"That I can do."

"Good," she says. Turning her back to him, she rubs her eyes. "Better get back upstairs."

He passes slowly through the living room. Trip's asleep on one of the sofas. Fitz and Clint are staring into the fire, just talking. Clint shakes Phil's hand, smiling, and Fitz grins too, even though he's nervous.

"Maria and Steve went up," Clint says. "I think the dam broke or something."

Fitz goes a little pale and he nods. "Skye said there was water all over the floor. Hill and the captain went to help.

"Her water broke?" He's halfway up the stairs before he finishes his thought. Taking the stairs two at a time isn't entirely necessary, but he can't help it. He only left her for a little while, but now she's on her hands and knees on the bathroom floor. Melinda's sigh isn't quite a moan, or a grunt, but she's clearly broken through her pain threshold. Skye and Natasha are up by her head. Melinda's dark hair lies beneath Natasha's hands as she strokes the back of her neck. Her head rests on Natasha's thighs. One of Melinda's hands is wrapped around Natasha's knee, and Skye holds the other. Steve has his hands pressed firmly into her lower back. Jemma and Maria are cleaning up the fluid on the tile with towels.

"It's clear," Jemma tells him with a wet towel in her hands. "That's good. No infection, no foetal distress."

Maria collects the wet towels and nods, tossing them into a basket out of the way. "Bruce says it went quickly."

"Two contractions ago," Bruce adds. He's still fidgeting with something, but he seems positive. "Sometimes the membranes only rupture a little and sometimes the baby gets in the way and amniotic fluid just leaks a little, but all of it went pretty quickly."

Skye looks up at him from the floor. Her eyes seem so huge in the soft light. "I think it hurts more now."

Natasha nods. "And she's getting tired."

"Is she okay on the floor?" he asks, not even really sure who he's directing the question to.

Bruce answers. "Yeah, if she's comfortable, it's a good position. Might help the pain in her back. Walking, squatting and hands and knees are all good, "

He kneels on the floor next to Natasha, gently stroking the wet skin on the back of Melinda's neck. Sweat's soaked through the already dark fabric of her nightgown and it clings to her skin.

"Everyone downstairs hopes you're doing well. Especially Fitz and your mother. Fitz wants you to know how strong you are, and you are, May. You're the strongest person I know."

She mumbles something mostly into Natasha's lap.

Skye leans all the way down and listens so she can repeat it. "She says you know the Avengers."

"I think they'd all forgive me for calling you stronger, even Thor."

Melinda lifts her head. Her eyes are red; sweat and tears stain her face. Her breath hisses through her teeth and her lips tremble. He offers his hands, and Natasha moves out of the way, and then she's in his arms, her head and shoulders against his chest. Her skin radiates heat, and her nightgown's so sweat drenched that it's cold against him.

"He waited for you to go downstairs," Melinda says, catching her breath. "I think he was just waiting for you to be out of the room."

"So I'd miss the show?"

She wearily shakes her head and he helps steady her up a little so he can look at her. "So he--" she stops, shutting her eyes. She swallows a gasp of pain. Everyone around them winces when she struggles, because they all love her and they can't take the pain away. Neither can he, and he hates that passionately.

"May, breath with it, not against it. You don't have to fight this."

"He- he wanted to surprise his daddy," she finishes. "Show you how grown up he was by breaking out."

Steve's fists run up and down her spine, pushing against whatever part of the baby's causing her so much pain. Natasha takes a cup with a straw from Jemma and it gets passed to him.

Stroking Melinda's cheek, he waits for her eyes to focus on him. "Can you drink some of this?"

She nods and sucks some of whatever it is through the straw before she lowers her face again. Her elbows rest on the floor, and her forehead drops to his thigh. He could swear that the round ball of her belly is smaller now, even lower in her hips. They're getting there, a little at a time.

"We're so lucky," he says to the back of her head. Maria takes the wet towels away. Jemma charts something on her tablet. Natasha takes over for Steve, standing over Melinda's back with her hands pressing downwards. "We have a whole team, May. We're all right. Our back-up's here."

She slowly catches her breath, filling her lungs with fragile control. "Mom?"

"She's baking, everything, as far as I can tell."

Melinda nods into his lap. "Distraction."

"Yeah, I think she needs the distraction. Luckily, our back-up is pretty good at eating extra food."

"Speaking of food, did you eat?" Skye asks him from his side. He'd nearly forgotten she was there.

"Yeah, yeah," he promises her. "I ate. Did you?"

She returns his nod. "Before I came up. May hasn't, but Jemma says she probably won't. Jemma keeps mixing up some kind of electrolytes for her, and she drinks that."

Melinda's shoulders start to tense and he hates whatever part of evolution made human birth so damn difficult. He'd hate the gods too if he could remember which Asgardian should be the recipient of his wrath. There's so little he, or anyone can do for her. She maintains her breathing, and he's so proud of her steady she is, but he knows that edge in the sounds she makes. This hurts. She's climbed mountains with broken ribs and fingers without making a sound, so this has to be pretty intense.

"We're all here for you and the baby. We're all right here."

He always loses her to silence. When she retreats, he scrambles after, rambling so she doesn't turn away entirely. He can't let her go.

"Keep talking," Skye whispers to him. "She's been drifting in and out a little, but she comes back."

He leans down and kisses her wet hair. "I love you. You can do this. I'm going to be right here."

He breathes with her, keeping his head low and close to hers. Slowly, she loosens up, and her grip on his hand relents.

"It never stops," she mutters, lifting her head.

"What?"

"It used to let up," she replies, gritting her teeth. Natasha must have almost half her weight pressed against Melinda's spine, but even that doesn't seem to be enough to stop the pain in her back. "It hurt but it let up. It faded."

He kisses her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"We should get her up and try walking again, get gravity on our side," Bruce says. His suggestion passes through Jemma, then Natasha and Steve, finally, it's Skye who makes sure Phil understands.

"It'll be better if you stand up," Phil says, hoping that's not an empty promise.

Four pairs of hands help Melinda to her feet and she leans heavily on his chest. Steve touches her back, and when she doesn't shakes him off, his hands and Natasha's stay there, taking some of her weight.

Melinda barely raises her head from his chest and it's more of a shuffle than a walk, but Bruce and Jemma both seem heartened by watching them.

"She's dilated to seven centimetres," Jemma says. She stands shyly next to him, wincing whenever Melinda sighs. "The last few can go really quickly, or be the hardest. There's really no way of knowing."

Melinda's fingers dig into his arms and they stop. He braces against the wall, both Natasha and Steve help support her and Jemma and Bruce watch. He doesn't tell her to breathe, because she knows, but he doesn't know what to say. That usually doesn't stop him, not with her, but he can hear the pain she's holding in.

"How did you meet?" Skye asks.

Flicking his gaze to her, he reads the determination on her face. "May and I?"

"Yeah," Skye continues, gaining strength. "Was it at the Academy? Did you pull her hair?"

He has to smile. Aching, his arms remind him that Melinda's hands will leave marks on his skin. "She pranked me first," he says. "That's how we met."

Skye absorbs his words like a sponge, letting him meander through the least important, and sweetest of memories, of the Academy and Melinda. They make a handful of steps, sometimes Melinda doesn't even have the strength to move and they stand, rocking back and forth until she's ready to continue.

When one story ends, Skye sets him on another, and the stories between them start to blend into the encouraging words he has for Melinda. Jemma wants her to drink again, and this time it seems like a struggle to keep it in her mouth at all. Melinda coughs, spitting some of the electrolyte liquid onto Phil's already soaked shirt.

They've nearly done on slow circuit of the upstairs hallway when the shaking starts. She can't possibly be cold; her skin's so hot and damp that is nearly steams, even in the warm house.

"Take off your shirt," someone says. It takes several beats for Phil to realise that the voice is Skye, not Melinda.

"My shirt?" he repeats.

Bruce nods and gently touches his sleeve. "It's drenched, and being against your skin instead of wet cotton will help regulate her body temperature, if she's shivering because she's cold. If she's not cold, just being in more contact has been known to help."

That sounds too optimistic, but Phil obeys. Skye stares at the scars on his chest, shakes herself out of it, but stares again. Melinda's trembling lets up a little and she snuggles in closer now that his shirt lies crumpled on the floor. Melinda catches her breath with her head on his chest, and he holds her close. Her heartbeat reverberates through him, almost as if his heart's going to fall in line.

Her lucid moments fade further. Melinda gasps against his chest, her hands clamp around his arms and all he can do is whisper that she'll be fine. The baby will be fine.

He can barely remember where to pick up with the stories he was telling Skye about the two of them at the Academy. Melinda's hiss is so sharp it's almost a cry. The sound slices through him, leaving his heart in tatters.

"How did you meet?" Skye asks him and he just stares at her.

"I told you."

"Tell me again." Skye's not even listening, he realises as he repeats himself. He's talking but the words are simply background noise. He pays more attention to the way Melinda leans on his chest and how she struggles to maintain the calm she needs for her breathing.

All that matters is her. Everyone else orbits around them, trying to get her to drink, speaking in jargon and codes. Jemma and Bruce talk of stages and he can't remember what the second stage is. Melinda drifts away from him with each contraction, pulling tighter within herself. He wants to follow her, but he can't. He has to hold her to the world, be her anchor the way she's always been his.

They miss the sunrise. It's only when he realises that the light overhead isn't as bright that he sees the grey in all the windows. It's still snowing outside, which seems so strange because surely the air must run out of snow after awhile. He doesn't know when the sun comes up, and it's still creeping towards the horizon.

Switching with Melinda, he helps Natasha and Steve balance her leaning against the wall for support.

Jemma thinks they're getting close. Bruce is nervous enough that he's stopped fidgeting and his hands are still. Jemma wants to check her progress and Melinda seems calm enough to allow it but when Phil steps back, she grabs for him.

"Don't."

"I'm right here," he says.

"Don't go," she replied. "Phil--"

"I'm here."

Jemma pulls back, content to check again after Melinda's calmed down.

"Phil?"

"I'm right here."

Her dark eyes turn to him but she looks through without seeing him. "Don't go."

"I won't."

Her fingers run down his face and settle on his shoulder. Her breathing's uneven, almost ragged and he slows his own to help her.

"You did." There's no anger in that accusation and her tone's flat. "You died."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He kisses her forehead, then her damp face over and over. "I'm so sorry."

"You died." She pants, pulling away from him. "You left me." Melinda sways on her feet. Natasha and Steve keep her up when she steps back. "You died, Phil. I saw you- I saw your body- and I can't- I can't--" The pain fades from her features, momentarily displaced by a deep anger.

"You won't," he promises.

Melinda shakes her head and she shoves back from his chest. She stares at the scar, transfixed. She must have stood over his coffin at his funeral. She put him in the ground only for him to walk back into her life as a mystery she had to take responsibility for. She promised Fury she'd put him down if it had to be done. She mourned him and then swore to bury him again if she needed to. 

He can't imagine how horrible it must have been for her. He watched her walk through the ashes of her life after Bahrain, but he knew she was in there. She had to live with him gone and he doesn't know how she faced it. He's not sure he could have in her place. She's so strong, and he's always loved that about her, but he can't understand what his death must have put her through. Even though he came back, her nightmare didn't end, and even when she tried to protect him, he hated her for it.

They're surrounded by the promise of death every day. They're the thin line between chaos and the rest of the world, and they're bringing a baby into that. This baby is life. Not just the hope for something better, but life they've created together: a new person who's almost with them.

Melinda keeps shaking her head, gasping against the pain. When he reaches for her, she pushes his hand back.

"You left me."

He can't help her. She's in enough pain that she sinks into Natasha and Steve's arms, her breath harsh in her chest. He doesn't even realise that he's crying until the tears catch on his chin.

"It's okay," Skye says. "We'll keep him with you."

"You can't," Melinda argues. "You can't."

Skye doesn't know what to do and he wishes he could tell her something. Melinda shuts her eyes tight and she seems to have let the world go into the blackness.

Jemma touches his shoulder. "I think she's in transition."

He should know what that means. He read everything Jemma gave him to read. He wanted to be ready, but nothing could have prepared him.

"Transition," he repeats without remembering what it is.

"It's the change between the first and second stage of labour, when the cervix opens, the baby engages and she can start to push. It's emotionally difficult. There are a lot of different hormones in her blood right now, all of them intense, and she's exhausted. It's hard for you, and all of us, but it means she's getting close to the end."

It's still impossible to believe that the end means a baby. He nods to Jemma, because he's heard her. He still doesn't know what to say or do. Melinda doesn't seem to remember where she is, or what's happening and every time he reaches for her, she pushes him away.

"She doesn't hate you," Jemma promises him. "Even if she says she does. Her body's trying to get her through so she can push, and she's doing great. She really is--"

"I know," he reassures her when she struggles. "I know. Thanks."

Melinda has her head on Skye's shoulder now, and her breathing seems deeper, more regular. She'll make it.

"You can't," Melinda repeats until her voice is raw. "You can't save him. I- I keep losing him and I can't- I can't do this on my own. I can't."

Phil shuts his eyes, but there's no way out of the truth. She lost him, and she might lose him again. Either of them could have to raise this baby alone, or the baby could lose them both and be an orphan like Skye. The world is dangerous and they face it down every day.

When he opens his eyes again, Skye looks at him, her heartbreak written all over her face. "What do I say?"

"Tell her she can," Phil says. "Tell her she'll be a great mother."

"She will," Skye agrees. "Not that I'm an authority, because I haven't had one, but you'll be great, May. You've got the 'don't do that' voice. You always seem to know when I'm doing something wrong and you fix things."

She looks to Phil. "Does she even hear me?"

"She does, and she hasn't pushed you away."

"Hey--" Skye squeezes his hand. "It's just hormones, Jemma said-"

"I know," he interrupts her. "I know. Keep talking to her. Tell her how her mother never left her. Remind her that she grew up safe and loved. Our baby will have that. So many people are going to love our baby."

Skye keeps repeating him, reminding Melinda of all the people who will keep their baby safe, how she will, how she's not going to lose Phil. It feels like an eternity of whispering things to Skye, but it works. Melinda's still trembling, held up between Natasha and Steve, but she calms.

The wind howls against the windows. Snow sings against the glass like a sandstorm. The sun must be higher now, and the grey has a hint of yellow.

He stands next to Natasha, listening to Melinda's breathing deepen, and her hisses of pain turn to grunts. He remembers abruptly that transition can bring contractions almost continuously on top of each other and his chest aches. He can't take her pain, and she won't let him help.

Bruce and Jemma are still talking, preparing things. When he sees the medical scissors it hits like an ICEr. Those are for their baby's umbilical cord. The baby's going to be here and need to be held and wrapped up in that blanket. Bruce comes to him, getting his attention with a hand on his arm.

"When she wants to push we'll need to do a last check and make sure she's dilated all the way, so she doesn't bruise her cervix by pushing too early. Usually there's just a point where instinctually, she'll know what to do. It could be soon, or it could still be some time yet. Maybe an hour, maybe more. It's pretty impossible to tell until we're there." He pats Phil's shoulder. "Sorry I can't be more helpful."

"It's all right."

Skye's breathing with her and Melinda, slowly, and strangled sound she made earlier that cut so deep into his stomach has stopped. She seems calmer, more in control. Maybe she's coming out of it. Bruce doesn't know, and there's no way for Phil to judge, so he nods.

"Okay."

"She's doing great," Bruce says. "I know it seems like hell, and you're never going to get out of it, but she's incredibly strong, and in good shape to have this baby. Even if you did let Steve cook for her for a month."

Natasha smirks. "I think he's cooking has improved a great deal. He's learned not to boil everything, finally."

"We didn't really have a whole internet full of cooking blogs in the old days," Steve says in his defence.

"Sure, blame the technology. All you needed was the internet," Bruce jokes.

In the middle of their teasing, Melinda rests her head on Skye's chest, still breathing, pulled entirely into her own world. When he looks at Skye, she nods.

"She's okay. I think we're doing the breathing thing right."

He could hug Skye, but he just touches her arm. "Breathe slowly, stay calm. Just like tai chi."

"This is nothing like tai chi," Skye replies.

Melinda's shoulders tremble, so does the rest of her body, and he reaches for her because he has to hold her. She doesn't pull away. Whatever's happening, whatever's changed, now she lets him hold her and her sweat sticks to his skin.

"Too hot," she croaks. Tugging at her nightgown, Melinda looks from him to Skye, then back to him, confused. "Take it off."

Steve blushes and averts his eyes, but he stays. Natasha shifts Melinda's weight to Steve and Skye, freeing her hands to help Phil remove Melinda's nightgown. The movement draws Jemma from over by the bed.

"She wanted it off?"

"Too hot," Phil explains, tossing the nightgown to the side. There are towels and sheets, but Melinda doesn't seem to mind that she's entirely naked now.

"Phil?"

"I'm here. I told you I wouldn't leave."

Melinda's lips move just enough to be the ghost of a smile. "You didn't leave me."

"I'm not leaving either of you."

Her hands return to his shoulders and he's whole again.

"Okay," she grunts, gritting her teeth again. "Phil?" Something's different.

"Jemma?" he calls over his shoulder and then she's there, with Bruce.

"You want to push now, don't you?" Jemma asks.

Melinda nods, panting. "Yes."

"Is she dilated enough?" Phil asks.

Jemma winces when she looks at them. "I have to check. It might be a little uncomfortable."

Melinda's snort could almost be amused. "Check."

Crouching down, Jemma reaches up between Melinda's legs and a moment later, she pulls her hand back, pale. "I felt his head."

"The baby's head?" Bruce asks. "It'll be hard, bony."

"That describes it quite accurately," Jemma answers. "Right. That's his head."

Starting to tense again, Melinda bends her knees. All of them shift downward, moving limbs and their bodies until she's supported between them. Her back's against Steve's chest, his knees beneath her thighs. Natasha and Skye hold her knees and Phil's right in front of her.

"You've got this," he says. "You've got it, May."

She bears down, bending towards him, holding her breath. Blood, some clotted, some fresh, rains onto the towels by her feet. He breathes with her, holding his breath when she does. Time leaves them, abandoning them to a world of sweat and breath because all that matters is her. They wait, whispering about their child and the wonders he'll see, then there's another contraction and they're consumed by it.

Jemma's counting. Steve steadies Melinda's bare shoulders. Natasha tells Skye that it's just a little blood, nothing to worry about. Skye's eyes are wide and white and he wishes he could help her understand that this is not a thing to fear. This is primal, the beginning of a life, the start of someone's existence.

When he looks back into her eyes, Melinda's are dark, like the place that nearly took him.

He's known her most of his adult life, and loved her nearly all of that time. She's his best friend, the person who knows all of his darkness and accepts it for what it is. She's his saviour when he needs one, and every once in awhile, he's hers. They balance, provide counterweight for each other. They're a team, they have their family and it's growing. Everything is about to be different, and even the stars will see this new life.

Their child.

Melinda's forehead rests against his. Someone's opened the window and tiny flakes of snow drift before fading. She radiates heat and all of them are wet. Skye's hair clings to her forehead, and Natasha has a smudge of blood drying on her cheek. Steve holds her, solid and patient. Phil kneels in front of her, losing himself in her eyes, in her soul.

Her hands move from his arms to the back of his neck. Her voice is so deep in her throat that it's almost a growl, and she pushes. He mutters nonsense about how much he loves her, and she pushes. Snow swirls from the window, and they wait.

All of their hearts seem to wait, beating like drums that herald the new.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispers into her ear.

"I didn't know I'd left," she murmurs back.

She shivers, summoning some well of strength yet untouched. Someone's talking to him and he doesn't hear. Only when Jemma's behind him, and Bruce at his side, that Phil realises how close they are. Bruce's hands are open between Melinda's thighs and she might not even know how close she is.

She gasps, then groans, and Bruce is talking about a head.

"I have the head," Bruce says. "Just the shoulders now, and the rest will slip right out."

The time between contractions stretches out, reaching for eternity, but it breaks. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, her whole body stiffens, and all her muscles finally force their baby free.

"I've got him." Bruce says. Melinda breathes hard into his neck, and he laughs, because Bruce said him.

He's blue-grey, covered in blood and mucus, and his umbilical cord lies across Bruce's hands, still connecting him to his mother. Bruce wipes his tiny face clean, then breathes on his face, blowing air across a little nose that's never felt it before. Melinda sobs against his shoulder, then lifts her head to look at the baby in Bruce's hands.

He twitches, flailing his red fist. He squeaks, then gasps and his skin begins to turn pink. His lungs fill, and he inhales again before he cries.

Bruce smiles down at him, then hands him to Melinda. She holds their son to her chest, tears falling on his untouched skin. He has toes and fingers, and wet dark hair that coats his head. Phil rests his hand on their son's back. His heart races against Phil's palm, and he makes good use of his lungs.

They hold him between them and all the rest, the mess on the floor, the pulsing cord that still connects the baby and his mother, the snow: none of it matters because their son is here.

Melinda laughs, holding their son against her chest. He squirms between her breasts, indignant after his long journey.

"He's beautiful."

"He's kind of slimy," Skye mutters to Jemma.

"He'll clean up," Phil says. "Look at his nose."

"And his hair," Natasha adds, beaming. "So much hair, considering he's so little."

"He's not that little," Melinda says, finally looking up. "He didn't feel little."

Natasha kisses her cheeks, one after the other. "Congratulations. I'll go announce his arrival, unless dad wants to?"

Phil shakes his head. He can't imagine being anywhere but right next to both of them.

"Dad's going to cut the cord," Bruce says. He hands over the scissors and gestures between two clamps. "It'll be a little tough."

His hands are covered in the fluids of birth and Phil wipes them on a towel before he risks the scissors. Their son is safe in Melinda's arms and the cord lies still, its purpose served. He cuts it, splitting mother from son in one slice. Bruce takes the scissors back and later, when the placenta slips free, he and Jemma look over it, examining it in a bowl until they're both satisfied.

Melinda holds their son and he stops crying against her chest. He's not interested in nursing either, and instead he looks around, shifting his dark blue eyes without focusing. He can't see much yet, but his eyes are the most beautiful thing Phil's ever seen.

He kisses Melinda, then kisses their son. He has his own scent, something new.

"You're incredible," he whispers to her. "Look at him."

"I see you," Melinda replies. "I see you all over his face."

Phil strokes his fine black hair. "Your hair."

Melinda smirks. "That's a good thing."

They should get off the floor and get her cleaned up and into the bed, but it's just the three of them, all curled up together and this moment is as perfect as his life has been. Their still nameless son opens his mouth and closes it again. Phil toys with his fist, and slowly, they guide him over so he can nurse. Melinda frowns, then chuckles when he latches on.

"He's hungry."

"He's had a busy day," Phil says, kissing her again. He intends to keep kissing her for the rest of his life.

Melinda looks up and meets his mouth. "I love you," she murmurs. "You, and this little guy."

Phil smiles. "He's not that little."


End file.
